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10 
THE 


ZOZIMUS  PAPEES. 


A  SEBIES  or 


COMIC  AND  SENTIMENTAL  STORIES  AND  LEGENDS, 


BSINa  THB  EDITED,  UNEDITED  AND  PILFERED  WOBKS  OF 


MICHAEL  MORAl^, 


THE   BLIND    STORY-TELLER   OF   DUBLIN. 


NEW  YORK: 

P.   J.    KENEDY, 
EXCELSIOR  CATHOLIC  PUBLISHING  HOUSE, 

5  BARCLAY  STREET. 
1889. 


Copyrighted, 

1880, 

By  P.  J.  KENEDY. 


SRLF 
YRL 


0£> 


mfr^r-g-^ 


PREFACE. 


The  following  humorous  and  pathetic  tales  and 
stories  require  no  recommendation  to  those  who  relisk 
innocent  and  amusing  reading.  Though  all  are  at- 
tributed to  the  late  lamented  Zoziiaus,  who  once  made 
the  streets  of  Dublin  vocal  with  his  epigrams  and  im- 
promptu ballads,  it  is  but  candid  to  say  that  many  of 
them  cannot  be  traced  directly  to  his  authorship,  and 
several  of  the  best,  we  are  aware,  were  written  in 
the  first  instance  for  a  weekly  journal.  However, 
they  are  all,  without  exception,  true  pictures  of  Irish 
life,  as  it  once  appeared,  nothing  being  extenuated  or 
set  down  in  malice,  and  as  such  we  ask  for  thero 
the   kind    consideration   ol   the   reader. 


COI^TEKTS. 


Pacs. 
The"Zozimus"  Papers 7 

The  Prophecy  Man 16 

The  Desj;rter 27 

The  Matchmaker ^ . 33 

The  Ghost 42 

An  Irish  Picnic 51 

The  Irish  Parliament  and  the  Turk. 69 

Bothering  an  Editor 77 

A  Fenian  Tale 84 

Handy  Andy's  Little  Mistakes 97 

Puss  IN  Brogues 106 

The  Wise  Simpleton 116 

Peggy  the  Pishogue 127 

An  Irish  Dancing-Master 137 

A  Dance  at  Pat  Malone's 146 

Mike  Driscoll  and  the  Fairies 161 

Tom  Kearney i3i 

Paddy  Corbett's  First  Smuggling  Trip 152 

Hannaberry  the  Piper o ..... .   ...  206 

The  Irish  Fiddler •  •  •  214 

Barney  O'Grady 222 

Oroh jo.  the  Fairy  Man 227 


Vi  CONTENTS. 

Pagb. 

A  Tale  of  Other  Days 237 

What  Mr.  Maguire  Saw  in  the  Kitchen 245 

The  Will 257 

Serving  a  Writ 262 

The  Gauger  Outwitted 266 

The  Irish  Midwife 279 

The  Will  o'  the  Wisp 304 

The  Flower  of  the  Wki  l 309 


THE  "ZOZIMUS"  PAPERS.. 


From  the  creation  of  the  human  race  (we  may  as  well  begin  at 
the  beginning)  even  unto  our  own  degenerate  days,  the  Unknown 
Great  have  formed  a  very  large  portion  of  mankind.  How  many 
poets  and  philosophers  sang  songs  and  split  syllogistic  hairs  when 
the  unhappy  Cain  was  building  cities  by  the  Euphrates,  or  the 
mighty  hunter,  Nimrod,  was  developing  his  young  muscle  in  the 
sports  of  the  field,  it  is  of  course  impossible  to  say,  that  greatest 
of  all  water-cures,  the  Deluge,  has  literally  washed  out  every 
record  of  their  existence.  No  doubt  there  were  rhymsters  and 
bards  without  number  to  lighten  the  fruitless  labor  of  the  builders 
of  the  brick  tower  of  Babel,  but  the  calamity  that  befell  those 
enterprising  free-masons  and  hod-carriers  could  not  have  been 
without  its  deleterious  effect  on  the  children  of  the  muses.  What 
that  effect  must  have  been  is  too  painful  for  contemplation. 
Imagine  a  few  score  of  ambitious  poetasters,  each  bawling  out 
at  the  top  of  his  voice  his  favorite  composition  in  a  strange 
tongue,  unknown  to  any  of  his  hearers  or  rival  songsters  !  This, 
indeed,  would  be  confusion  worse  confounded. 

Then  we  find  matters  little  mended  when  we  come  down  to 
comparatively  modem  times — that  is,  the  ten  or  eleven  centuries 
before  our  era.  Where,  let  us  ask,  are  all  the  great  men  who  hood- 
winked and  blamied  the  Pharos  of  Egypt ;  or  those  who  sat  on  the 
sunny  sides  of  the  gorgeous  palaces  and  temples  of  Kineveh  and 
Babylon,  surrounded  by  admiring  crowds  of  princes  and  cour- 
tiers ?     WTiat  has  become  of  all  the  men  who  made  Greece  and 


8  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

her  colonies  on  the  borders  of  the  Mediten-anean  the  nurseries 
■  of  learning,  and  the  fayorite  summer  watering-place  of  the  Nine 
Muses  ?  Are  even  their  names  known  to  the  great  majority  of 
enlightened  American  citizens;  or  is  their  knowledge,  like  the 
language  of  the  sacred  Vedas  of  India,  confined  to  the  occult 
few,  the  professors  of  New  England  colleges  and  the  hedge-school 
masters  of  the  remote  Kingdom  of  Kerry  ? 

One  name,  indeed,  has  been  rescued  from  oblivion,  and  if  life 
is  preserved  to  us,  we  intend  to  pull  to  the  surface  another  genius 
by  the  drowned  locks.  Indeed,  those  two  characters,  Homer  and 
Moran,  had  many  points  in  common:  both  were  blind,  and  both 
sang  their  ballads  in  the  public  streets  for  a  scanty  subsistence, 
while  each  in  his  own  way  had,  during  life,  to  suffer  contumely 
and  injustice.  Fortunately  for  the  "blind  bard  of  Scio,"  Lycur- 
gus,  the  communist  of  Sparta  and  the  inventor  cf  broth,  in  his 
rambles  through  Asia  Minor,  a  long  time  after  the  poet  had  been 
carried  over  the  Styx,  heard  the  Homeric  ballads  sang  in  the 
streets,  and  giving  an  order  to  the  nearest  dealer  in  papyrus,  had 
them  stenographed  and  arranged  in  sequence  for  the  delectation 
of  his  rather  savage  subjects.     Then,  and  not  till  then,  did 

"Seven  cities  claim  the  poet  Homer  dead. 
Through  which  the  living  Homer  begged  his  bread." 

To  our  humble  selves  falls  the  onerous  but  pleasing  task  of 
imitating  the  example  of  the  Spartan  loiler,  but  though  we  have 
no  claim  to  that  eminent  strict  constructionist's  ability  or  influence, 
we  have  the  advantage  not  only  of  having  heard  our  hero's  ballads 
sung  in  the  streets  of  Dublin,  in  Crampton  Court  and  Jude's  Cafi; 
aye,  and  even  within  the  classic  walls  of  old  Trinity  and  at  the 
fancy  dres?  balls  of  the  Rotundo,  by  successful  imitators  of  the 
great  original;  but  in  our  callow  youth  we  enjoyed  the  friend- 
ship of  the  venerable  and  gifted  man.  This  latter  fact  enables 
us  to  do  for  Moran  what  all  the  biographers  and  antiquarians  in 
the  universe  have  failed  to  do  for  his  Greek  prototype.  We  can 
fix  precisely  the  place  and  time  of  his  birth,  as  well  as  the  exact 


THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS.  9 

scene  of  his  labors.  No  seven  cities  shall,  if  we  can  prevent  it, 
wrangle  in  fruitless  rivalry  over  his  birth-place.  Himself  and  all 
his  fame  belongs  to  Dublin,  and  in  the  language  of  a  late  distin- 
guished Irish  advocate,  he  was,  in  more  than  one  sense,  ' '  racy  of 
its  soil."  In  that  fair  city  celebrated  for  its  Lord  Lieutenants 
and  •'  Lady  Lieutenants,"  its  Lions  and  Unicorns,  big  policemen 
and  small  shopkeepers,  jdc/jjc'/is  a.ndjo/u-rs,  in  the  year  1S40,  at 
Faddle  Alley,  offBl.ack  Pitts,  in  the  Liberties,  (we  are  particular 
as  to  the  place,  for  we  have  no  doubt  as  civilization  advances 
pilgrims  by  the  thousands  will  throng  to  gaze  and  affectionately 
contemplate  the  humble  and  sequestered  spot,  if  the  ruthless  hand 
of  time  spares  it  so  long),  the  future  imf'rcK'visatore  first  saw  tJie 
light. 

Alas  !  twas  indeed  but  a  short  gleam  of  celestial  sunshine*hat 
illuminated  the  windows  of  the  soul  of  the  infant  phenomenon. 
Sickness,  that  ever  haunts  the  steps  of  mortn.ls  from  the  cradle  to 
the  grave,  makes  no  exception  of  genius,  and  w  hen  yet  two  weeks 
old,  those  eyes  that  might  have  rolled  with  divine  phrcnzy  be- 
came forever  sightless.  Nature,  doubtless,  when  viewing  her 
perfect  handiwork,  became  jealous  of  the  child,  and  resolved  by 
this  infliction  to  mar  his  gieat  mental  qualities  by  physical  disa- 
bility. Still  when  we  are  deprived  of  one  sense,  an  increased 
development  of  another  is  generally  noticed;  and  so  with  Zozi- 
mus,  for  so  acute  was  his  hearing  and  his  sense  of  feeling  so  deli- 
cate, that  he  easily  recognized  a  mere  acquaintance  by  the  sound 
of  his  voice,  and  could  perambulate  the  intricate  lanes  and  streets 
of  the  "Liberties"  without  the  guidance  of  dog  or  urchin.  We 
remember  one  exception  to  this  wonderful  gift  of  inhabitiveness. 

On  a  certain  very  stormy  night,  as  Mr.  (now  Sir  John)  Gray, 
of  the  Dublin  Freemait's  Jo:irnal,  was  about  to  cross  Essex 
bridge  on  his  way  to  the  office,  he  heard  through  the  darkness 
and  the  rain  a  plaintive  voice  saying  : 

"  Is  there  any  good  Christian  here  that  v/ould  lead  a  poor 
blind  man  over  the  bridge  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  kind-hearted  editor,  "talce  my  hand  and  I 
shall  bring  you  across." 


lO  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

•'  Thank  you,  gentle  sir,"  said  the  poet,  as  he  placed  his  hand 
within  that  of  his  obliging  conductor. 

When  they  had  crossed  the  Liffey  to  the  north  side,  Mr.  Gray 
stopped  and  inquired  with  well  assumed  gravity: 

'•  Now,  Zozimus,  why  is  it  you  are  always  so  hard  on  us 
Protestants?  Here  am  I  a  heretic,  who  have  taken  you  safely 
over  the  bridge  when  none  of  your  faith  was  near  to  assist  you, 
and  yet  you  say  many  harsh  things  against  us." 

"  Sir !"  replied  the  venerable  bard,  raising  up  his  sightless  eyes 
towards  where  he  supposed  heaven  might  be,  in  an  act  of  blind 
devotion,  as  it  were — "  Sir !  do  you  not  know  that  we  must 
sometimes,  for  their  own  good,  pander  to  the  prejudices  of  an 
unenlightened  public  ?" 

WTiat  a  blending  of  humility  and  wisdom  is  found  in  this  short 
answer !  We  look  in  vain  in  the  much-lauded  pages  of  Socrates 
and  Plato,  of  Cicero  and  Seneca,  for  anything  so  replete  in 
sagacity  and  knowledge  of  human  nature.  It  furnishes  also  a 
key  to  his  system  of  public  instruction,  and  an  explanation  of 
why  one  so  gifted  should  have  preferred  the  vernacular  of  Thomas 
Street  and  the  Coombc  to  that  of  more  classical  English  in  most 
of  his  compositions.  Born  at  a  time  when  the  Irish  people  were 
sunk  in  ignorance,  he  found  out  as  he  grew  up  tliat  they  had 
many  of  the  weaknesses  and  harmless  pn-judlces  which  grow  out 
of  long  years  of  servitude,  so  when  lie  had  a  sound  moral  to  coji- 
vey  or  a  patriotic  sentiment  to  advance,  he  made  use  of  these  very 
defects  of  character  to  instruct  his  auditors;  and,  unlike  many 
modem  orators,  he  was  able  to  impart  to  them  wholesome  truths 
in  language  they  could  all  understand. 

What  can  l)e  more  true  to  nature  as  well  as  to  fact  than  the  fol- 
lowing ballad  composed  and  sung  by  the  peripatetic  bard  soon 
after  the  celebrated  discussion  between  Rev.  Father  Thomas 
Maguire,  P.P.  of  Ballinamore,  and  Rev.  T.  D.  Gregg,  of  the 
Protestant  establishment,  during  which  the  latter  got  signally 
defeated  ? 


THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS.  II 


MAGUIRE'S  TRIUMPH. 


"  All  you  that  profess  to  that  ancient  religion. 

Can  boast  its  foundation  from  virtue  and  truth, 
Maguire's  the  champion  can  trace  its  origin, 

With  any  false  preacher  he's  fit  to  dispute; 
The  Swifts-ally  spouter  he's  bothered  completely, 

The  fountain  of  rancor  has  leveled  him  low. 
The  victory's  our  own,  we'll  rejoice  late  and  early, 

That  Maguire  may  conquer  wherever  he'll  go. 

"  From  the  sweet  county  Leitrim  to  famed  Dublin  city 

True  Catholic  doctrine  he  came  to  defend, 
Those  misguided  heretics,  boys  can  you  pity, 

When  to  his  decisions  they  were  forced  to  bend; 
Their  bible  cant-tract,  was  no  more  but  a  folly, 

The  master  of  arts  on  his  dunghill  may  crow. 
And  fly  to  the  '  Trinity  '  pack  for  protection, 

That  Maguire  may  conquer  wherever  he'll  go. 

"  Each  Catholic  heart  round  the  green  fields  of  Erin 

Shall  nobly  re-echo  the  shamrock  shore. 
Representing  the  joys  of  our  holy  religion. 

From  sweet  Dublin  city  to  Ballinamore; 
The  Tories  like  dogs  may  fly  to  their  kennels, 

The  foul  seed  of  discord  no  longer  tliey'U  sow. 
Let  us  quarrel  no  more,  but  stand  firm  to  each  other — 

Father  Tom,  may  you  conquer  wherever  you  go. 

•'  This  scheme  was  contrived  by  the  bigoted  faction, 

The  minds  of  the  people  they  mean  to  excite. 
For  their  own  selfish  ends  to  drive  man  to  distraction, 

To  keep  ancient  Erin  from  her  lawful  right; 
But  the  Catholic  Church  is  triumphant,  thank  heaven. 

All  tempests  and  dangers  she'll  still  overthrow, 
The  la.TL  dying  blow  to  heresy's  given^ 

Maguire,  may  you  conquer  wherever  you  go. 

"Acclamations  of  joy  through  our  church  is  spreading. 

From  the  seat  of  Armagh  to  St.  Peter's  in  Rome, 
The  call  of  assassins  no  more  we'll  be  dreading. 

The  Catholic  Church  has  commenced  in  its  bloom; 
For  the  want  of  sound  proofs  Tory  Gregg  you  defeated. 

The  rank  seed  of  Harry  is  confounded,  you  know, 
One  heaven,  one  sheepfold  by  heaven  elevated. 

That  Man:uire  may  conquer  wlierever  he'll  go. 


12  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPFRS. 

"  The  Catholic  clergy  may  stand  on  their  altars, 

And  challenge  the  bjst  their  foes  can  produce, 
For  the  minds  of  ihi  p:ople  can  never  be  altered; 

Poor  Gregg,  your  false  doctrine  is  of  but  htlle  use; 
Your  name,  Father  To.n,  will  be  ever  enduring. 

Of  the  infernal  proud  Satan  you  have  made  a  show; 
Green  laurels  shall  bloom  round  the  chapels  of  Erin, 

That  Maguire  may  conquer  wherever  he'll  go. 

"With  joy  we'll  conclude  by  the  victory  proclaiming, 

And  toast  to  Victoria  our  beautiful  queen, 
While  our  kind  Lord  Lieutenant  displays  equal  justice, 

May  ire  i-eign  triumphant  in  our  land  of  green; 
That  the  blest  Church  of  Rome  may  extend  through  the  iVcn'ld ; 

As  we  push  round  the  glass  with  tliree  cheers  let  it  flow, 
To  the  health  of  the  matchless,  unrivaled  Maguire, 

May  he  live  long  and  conquer  wherever  he'll  go." 

We  admit  our  inability  to  understand  the  logic  or  appreciate 
the  sentiment  of  the  last  verse.  What* connection  could  exist 
between  the  welfare  of  "  our  beautiful  queen"  and  the  "equ;;! 
justice  "  of  the  "  kind  Lord  Lieutenant,"  and  the  spread  of  the 
doctrines  of  the  Church,  must  remain  to  us  a  conundrani.  It 
may  be  that  at  the  time  the  poem  was  given  to  the  public  (183S) 
there  had  been  a  fresh  stimulus  imparted  to  Dublin  loyalty  by  an 
increased  order  for  castle  livery  of  "native  manufacture;"  or 
that  the  author,  apprehensive  of  the  interference  of  the  jxilicc 
with  his  chants  in  praise  of  the  champion  of  the  people,  threw  in 
the  last  few  lines  as  a  propitiatory  sacrifice  to  the  MoUoch  of  the 
Castle.  Future  critics  must  resolve  this  delicate  enigma;  for 
ourselves,  we  give  it  up. 


The  great  Moran  was  born  of  poor  hut  honest  parents,  a  method 
of  description  not  very  original,  but  much  affected  by  certain 
biographers,  who  think  it  a  strange,  nay,  wonderful  coincidence, 
that  a  man's  parents  may  have  been  poor  and  yet  honest.  How- 
ever, it  was  a  fact  in  the  case  of  our  poet,  well  known  to  the  pub- 
lic, and,  very  probably,  often  inconveniently  felt  l.'y  himself.  We 
wish,  for  the  sake  of  posterity,  that  our  data  regarding  his  early 


THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS.  I3 

habits  and  education  were  as  authentic,  for,  as  a  brother  poet 
hath  it, 

' '  Lives  of  poets  all  remind  us 
We  can  write  dimnation  fine, 
Leaving  still  unsolved  behind  us 
Query  :   How  are  bards  to  dine  ?" 

What  interesting  reminiscences  must  have  clustered  round  his 
infancy  and  adolescence,  that  now  can  only  be  left  to  the  imag- 
ination !  What  mud  pies  he  made  in  the  propitious  precincts  of 
Faddle  Alley  !  and  what  spankings  he  must  have  received  from 
the  maternal  brogue  !  Would  tliat  some  authentic  record  had 
been  preserved  in  the  library  of  the  "  Silent  Sister,"  or  in  the 
Royal  Irish  Academy,  which  would  tell  us  of  the  first  dawnings 
of  the  genius  that  was  destined  not  only  to  astonish  his  fellow- 
citizens,  but  to  edify  and  instruct  the  whole  world — for  to  what 
place  has  his  fame  not  extended  ?  How  he  listened  enraptured 
to  the  reading  of  the  good  and  great  bishop  of  Raphoe's  account 
of  Mary  of  Egypt,  and  drank  in,  as  eager  as  the  arid  sands  of  the 
desert  do  tlie  passing  shower,  the  beautiful  and  patriotic  senti- 
ments of  "Come,  all  ye  ancient  Britons,"  "In  the  year  '98," 
"The  Banshee  Peelers,"  and  other  gems  of  rustic  verse.  But, 
unfortunately,  every  incident  of  his  life  save  the  mere  fact  of  his 
entrance  into  this  sublunary  sphere,  has  been  forgotten,  or  sup- 
pressed by  those  who  envied  his  ability  without  being  able  to  ap- 
proach it.;  and  we  know  little  of  him  till  he  emerged  into  public 
life  and  the  streets  of  Dublin  a  full-fledged  author,  composer  and 
musical  artist,  arrayed  in  a  dress  consisting  of  a  long-tailed  coat, 
closely  buttoned  over  the  chest  (as  if  to  conceal  the  absence  of  a 
shirt),  with  a  cape — the  lower  parts  of  the  skirts  being  scalloped 
like  the  edge  of  a  monstrous  saw,  which  but  allowed  the  ioex- 
pressibles  to  be  revealed.  His  extremities  were  encased  in  a  pair 
of  strong  brogues,  and  the  ioi/f  ensemble  was  crowned  by  a  soft, 
f  reasy  hat,  that  lud  protected  the  noble  head  of  the  venerable 
man  in  all  weathers  for  many  a  year.  Ills  only  companion,  his 
only  weapon  of  defense  and  offense — -his  staff  and  truncheon  — 
was  a  long  blackthorn  stick,  which  was  attached  to  his  wrist  by 


14  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

a  stout  leathern  thong,  lest,  perchance,  some  profane  urchin  might 
snatch  it  out  of  his  grasp,  and  leave  him  open  to  assault  in  front 
and  rear. 

Thus  habited  and  equipped,  he  would  take  his  stand  on  Essex 
bridge,  or  in  some  other  thoroughfare,  where  his  appearance  never 
failed  to  collect  a  crowd  of  admirers  and  patrons.  Then  a  dia- 
logue something  like  the  following  would  ensue  between  the  bard 
and  his  audience: 

Zoz.  "  Gather  'round  me,  boys;  gather  'round  me.  Well,  yez 
all  know  St.  Patrick  was  bom  in  Bull  Alley,  ave  he  wasn't  in 
France." 

Female  Listener  {loqmtor).  "Oh,  Kitty  Gogarty,  glory  ba 
to  goodness,  did  you  ever  hear  the  like  of  that  afore  ?  Why,  he 
must  be  a  great  book-larned  man  !" 

Scamps  {in  full  chorus).  "More  power,  Zozimus,  yer  the  rale 
hart  ave  the  rowl;"  "  Tip  huz  the  T.  B.  C. ;"  "  There's  no  damp 
on  the  taypot;"  "That  ye  may  never  die,"  etc.,  etc. 

It  may  be  well  to  explain  here  that  the  cabalistic  letters  were 
the  initials  of  Attomey-Cieneral  Smith,  one  of  the  Crown  prosecu- 
tors on  the  trial  of  O'Connell  and  six  other  prominent  repealers 
in  1843.  As  the  result  of  that  inquisition,  the  imprisonment  of 
the  "martyrs,"  fired  the  soul  of  the  poet  with  just  indignation; 
so  their  liV)cration,  after  three  months'  confinement,  called  forth 
some  of  the  noblest  strains  of  the  gifted  son  of  song.  The  first, 
which  is  the  most  valual)le  on  account  of  its  historical  and  bio- 
graphical references,  ran  as  follows: 

Ye  boys  of  old  Hiljernia,  attend  imto  me. 

Whilst  I  give  you  the  story  of  young  T.  B.  C. 

Unlike  his  father,  who  stood  by  Father  Maguire, 

He  prosecuted  O'Connell,  with  sjiile  like  hell-fire. 

With  him  were  first-named  Fathci-s  Tiemay  and  Tyrrell, 

But  were  soon  '^et  aside  as  leading  lo  peril, 

Tom  .Steele,  Ricliard  Barrett,  Gavan  Duffy  and  Gray, 

With  John  O'Connell  and  our  "doar  T.  M.  Ray." 

A  jury  was  formed  of  the  right  sort. 

Who  had  the  right  feeling  when  called  into  court, 

And  soon  pure  witnesses  were  easily  found 

To  keep  the  right  side  -the  Royal  ground. 


THE   ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 


15 


Then  the  learned  judge  made  home  his  bold  charge 
Against  brave  O'Connell  and  his  six  at  large, 
Who  to  Richmond  prison  were  suddenly  sent, 
Wlaere  some  months  of  confinement  they  soberly  spent. 

But  when  the  Writ  of  Error  (with  all  its  records) 
Was  fully  brought  up  before  the  House  of  Lords, 
The  noble  answer  was  just,  rich  and  rare, 
The  trial  was  a  "mockery,  delusion  and  snare;" 
So  then  the  imprisoned  were  set  fully  free, 
To  the  glory  and  joy  of  our  old  countrie; 
At  least  half  a  million  in  union  did  meet, 
And  had  a  procession  in  every  street. 

It  may  easily  be  imagined  the  effect  such  a  plain,  simple,  yet 
forcible  ballad  like  the  above,  when  sung  by  so  skilled  a  rhetori- 
cian as  our  hero,  would  have  on  an  intellectual  Dublin  audience, 
which  is  popularly  supposed,  at  least  by  the  good  people  of  that 
provincial  city,  to  be  the  most  critical  of  any  in  Europe,  particu- 
larly in  musical  matters. 


1 5  THE  ZOZIMUS  PAPERS. 


THE  IRISH  PROPHECY  MAN. 


BY    WILLIAM   CARLETON'. 


[The  warm  imagination  and  playful  faiicy  of  the  poet  were  not 
confined  within  any  limits,  and  in  reciting  his  stories  he  wan- 
dered from  "grave  to  gay"  with  the  freedom  peculiar  to  his 
calling,  as  well  as  characteristic  of  the  man.  His  mind  was  a 
storehouse  of  legendary  lore  from  which  he  could  draw  at  will  a 
tale  to  suit  tlie  taste  of  his  audience.  Thus  a.  one  time  he  would 
delight  his  hearers  with  a  description  of  Donnybrook,  given  in 
his  own  unique  way,  with  all  the  graces  of  delivery  and  action 
which  enhanced  so  much  the  value  of  his  lucubrations;  at  an- 
other he  would  describe  a  national  character  witli  such  fidelity 
to  nature  and  acuteness  of  observation,  as  would  lead  one  to 
imagine  that  this  was  his  peculiar  yir/c'.  "The  Irish  Prophecy 
Man  "  was  a  favorite  theme  with  tlie  tdfted  poet,  and  when  seated 
by  a  cheerful  fire  and  in  the  company  of  congenial  spirit.-),  he  de- 
livered it  with  a  ring  and  g:tst(?  that  must  forever  remain  inimi- 
table. This,  like  many  of  his  other  creations,  was  gracelessly 
purloined,  and,  clothed  in  a  new  dress,  appeared  in  the  columns 
of  a  Uublia  magazine-  Ah,  me  3  how  much  must  it  have  lost  in 
symmetry  in  its  transfjrmation. 

In  the  absence  of  the  inimitable  version  as  tol-i  by  Zozimus, 
we  must  present  it  in  the  shape  which  it  has  assumed  mider  the 
hand  of  William  Carleton.] 


The  individual  t )  whom  the  heading  of  this  article  is  uniform- 
ly applied,  stands  among  the  lower  classes  oi  his  countrymen  in 


THE    IRISH   PROPHECY   MAX.  IJ 

a  different  light  and  position  from  any  of  tliose  previous  charac- 
ters that  we  have  already  described  to  our  readers.  Tlie  inter- 
course which  i/iry  maintain  with  the  pe«^le  is  one  that  simply 
involves  the  means  of  procuring  subsistence  for  theinselvesby  the 
exercise  of  their  professional  skill,  and  tlieir  jjoweis  of  coa^tributing 
to  the  lighter  enjoynaenits  and  mcHre  hannless  amusements  of  their 
fellow-coantrymen.  All  the  collateral  influences  they  possess, 
as  arising  from  the  hold  which  the  peculiar  nature  of  this  inter- 
course gives  them,  generally  affect  individuals  only  on  those 
minor  points  of  feeling  that  act  upon  the  lighter  phases  of  domes- 
tic life.  They  bring  little  to  society  beycMid  the  mere  accessories 
that  are  appended  to  the  general  modes  of  life  and  manners,  and 
consequently  receive  then^selves  as  strcag  an  impress  from  those 
with  whom  they  mingle,  as  they  communicate  to  them  in  return. 
Now,  the  Prophecy  Man  presents  a  cliaiucter  far  different  from 
all  this.  With  the  ordinary  habits  of  life  he  has  little  sympathy. 
The  amusements  of  the  people  are  to  hinj  little  less  tlian  vanity, 
if  not  something  worse.  He  despises  that  class  of  men  who  live 
and  think  only  for  the  presei>t,  without  ever  ouce  performing  their 
duties  to  posterity,  by  looking  into  those  great  events  that  lie  in 
the  womb  of  futui-ity.  Domestic  joys  or  distresses  do  not  in  the 
least  affect  him,  because  the  man  has  not  to  do  witli  feelings  or 
emoticHis,  bat  with  principles.  The  speculations  in  wliich  he  in- 
dulges, and  by  which  his  whole  life  and  conduct  are  regulated, 
place  him  far  above  the  usual  impulses  of  humanity.  He  cares 
not  much  who  has  been  married  or  who  has  died,  for  his  mind  is, 
in  point  of  tinie,  conmitining  with  unborn  generations  upon  af- 
fairs of  high  and  solemn  import.  The  past,  indeed,  is  to  him 
sometliing,  the  future  everything;  but  the  present,  unless  when 
marked  by  the  prophetic  symbols,  little  or  notliing.  The  topics 
of  his  conversation  are  vast  and  mighty,  bjing  nothing  less  than 
the  fate  of  kingdoms,  the  revolution  of  empires,  the  ruin  or  estab- 
lishment of  creeds,  the  fall  of  moaarclis,  or  the  rise  and  prostra- 
tion of  principalities  and  powers.  How  can  a  mind  thus  engaged 
descend  to  those  petty  subjects  of  ordinary  life  which  engage  the 
common  attention  ?     How  could  a  roan  hard  at  work  in  evolving 


1 8  THE    ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

out  of  prophecy  the  subjugation  of  some  hostile  state  care  a  far- 
tiiing  whether  Loghliu  Roe's  daughter  was  married  to  Gusty 
Given 's  son,  or  not?  The  thing  is  impossible.  Like  fame,  the 
head  of  tlie  Prophecy  Man  is  always  in  the  clouds,  but  so  much 
higher  up  as  to  be  utterly  above  the  reacb  of  any  intelligence 
that  does  not  affect  the  fate  of  nations.  There  is  an  old  anecdote 
told  of  a  very  high  and  a  very  low  man  meeting.  "  What  news 
down  there ?"  Slid  the  tall  fellow.  "Very  little,"  replied  the 
other:  "  what  kind  of  weather  have  you  above?"  Well  indeed 
might  the  Propliecy  Man  ask  what  news  there  is  below,  for  his 
mind  seldom  leaves  those  aerial  heights  from  which  it  watches 
the  fate  of  Europe  and  the  shadowing  forth  of  future  changes. 

The  Prophecy  Man — that  is,  he  who  solely  devotes  himself  to 
an  anxious  observation  of  those  political  occurrences  which  mark 
the  signs  of  the  times,  as  they  bear  upon  the  future,  the  principal 
business  of  whose  life  it  is  to  associate  them  with  his  own  pro- 
phetic theories —is  now  a  rare  character  in  Ireland.  He  was,  how- 
ever, a  very  niarked  one.  The  Shanahus  and  other  itinerant 
characters  had,  when  compared  with  him,  a  very  limited  beat 
indeed.  Instead  of  being  confined  to  a  parish  or  a  barony,  the 
bounds  of  the  Propliecy  Man's  travels  were  those  of  the  kingdom 
itself ;  and  indeed  some  of  them  have  bzen  known  to  make  excur- 
sions to  the  Highlands  of  Scotland,  in  order,  if  possible,  to  pick 
up  old  prophecies,  and  to  make  themselves,  by  cultivating  an  in- 
timacy with  the  Scottish  seers,  capable  of  getting  a  clearer  io- 
sight  into  futurity,  and  surer  rules  for  developing  the  latent  secrets 
of  time- 
One  of  the  heaviest  blows  to  the  speculations  of  this  class  was 
the  downfall  and  death  of  Bonaparte,  especially  the  latter. 
There  are  still  living,  however,  those  who  can  get  over  this  diffi- 
culty, and  who  will  not  hesitate  to  assure  you,  with  a  look  of 
much  mystery,  that  the  real  "  Bonyparty  "  is  alive  and  well,  and 
will  make  his  due  appearance  m/ien  the  lirm  comes;  he  who  sur- 
rendered himself  to  the  English  being  but  an  accomplice  of  Uie 
true  one. 

The  next  fact,  and  which  I  have  alluded  to  in  treating  of  the 


THE    IRI£K    PROPHECY   MAN.  1 9 

Shanahus,  is  the  failure  of  the  old  prophecy  that  a  George  the 
Fourth  would  never  sit  on  the  thi-one  of  England.  His  corona- 
tion and  reign,  however,  puzzled  our  prophets  sadly,  and  indeed 
sent  adrift  forever  the  pretensians  of  this  prophecy  to  truth. 

Having  thus,  as  is  our  usual  custom,  given  what  we  conceive 
to  be  such  preliminary  obsei-vations  as  are  necessaiy  to  make  both 
the  subject  and  tlie  person  more  easily  understood,  we  shall  pro- 
ceed to  give  a  short  sketch  of  the  only  Prophecy  Man  we  ever  saw 
who  deserved  properly  to  be  called  so,  in  the  full  and  unrestricted 
sense  of  the  term.  This  individual's  name  was  Barney  M'Haig- 
hery,  but  in  what  part  of  Ireland  he  was  bom  I  am  not  able  to 
inform  the  reader.  All  I  knoMr  is,  that  he  was  spoken  of  on 
every  occasion  a  J  The  Prophecy  Man;  and  that,  although  he 
could  not  himself  read,  he  carried  about  with  him,  in  a  variety  of 
pockets,  several  old  books  and  manuscripts  that  treated  upon  his 
favorite  subject. 

Barney  was  a  tall  man,  l^y  no  means  meanly  dressed;  and  it  is 
necessary  to  say  that  hi  came  not  within  the  character  or  condi- 
tion of  a  mendicant.  On  the  contrary,  he  was  considered  as  a 
person  who  must  be  received  with  respect,  for  the  people  knew 
perfectly  well  that  it  was  not  with  every  farmer  in  the  neighbor- 
hood he  would  condescend  to  sojourn.  He  had  nothing  of  the 
ascetic  and  abstracted  meagreness  of  the  prophet  in  his  appear- 
ance. So  far  from  that,  he  was  inclined  to  corpulency;  but,  like 
a  certain  class  of  fat  men,  his  natural  disposition  was  calm,  but 
at  the  same  time  not  unmixed  with  something  of  the  pensive. 
His  habits  of  thinking,  as  might  be  expected,  were  quiet  and 
meditative;  his  person:;l  motions  slow  and  regular;  and  his  tran- 
sitions from  one  resting-place  to  another  never  of  such  length 
during  a  single  day  as  to  exceed  ten  miles.  At  this  easy  rate, 
however,  he  traversed  the  whole  kingdom  several  times;  nor  was 
there  probably  a  local  prophecy  of  any  importance  in  the  coun- 
try, with  which  he  was  not  acquainted.  He  took  much  delight 
in  the  greater  and  lesser  prophets  of  the  Old  Testament;  but  his 
heart  and  soul  lay,  as  he  expressed  it,  "  in  the  Revelations  of  St. 
John  the  Divine." 


20  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

His  usual  practice  was,  when  the  family  came  home  at  night 
from  Iheir  labor,  to  stretch  himself  upon  two  chairs,  bis  head 
resting  upon  the  hob,  with  a  boss  for  a  pillow,  his  eyes  closed,  as 
a  proof  that  his  mind  was  deeply  engaged  with  the  matter  in 
hand.  In  this  attitude  he  got  some  one  to  read  the  particular  pro- 
phecy upon  which  he  wished  to  descant;  and  a  most  curious  and 
amusing  entertainment  it  generally  was  to  hear  the  text,  and  his 
own  singular  and  original  commentaries  upon  it.  That  he  must 
have  been  often  hoaxed  by  wags  and  wits,  was  quite  evident 
from  the  startling  travesties  of  the  text  which  had  been  put  into 
his  mouth,  and  which,  having  been  once  put  there,  his  tenacious 
memory  never  forgot. 

The  fact  of  Barney's  arrival  in  the  neighborhood  soon  went 
abroad,  and  the  natural  consequence  was,  that  the  house  in  which 
he  thought  proper  to  reside  for  the  time  became  crowded  every 
night  as  soon  as  the  hours  of  labor  had  passed,  and  the  people 
got  leisure  to  hear  him.  Having  thus  procured  him  an  audience, 
it  is  full  time  that  we  should  allow  the  fat  old  Prophet  to  speak 
for  himself,  and  give  us  an  insight  into  futurity. 

"  Barney,  ahagur,"  the  good  man  his  host  would  say,  "here's 
a  lot  o'  the  neighbors  come  to  hear  a  whirrangue  from  you 
on  the  Prophecies;  and,  sure,  if  you  can't  give  it  to  them,  wlio 
is  there  to  be  found  that  can  ?" 

"Throth,  Paddy  Traynor,  although  I  say  it  that  should  not 
say  it,  there's  tnith  in  thai,  at  all  evints.  The  same  knowledge 
has  cost  me  many  a  weary  blisthur  an'  sore  heel  in  hunlin'  it  up 
an'  down,  through  mountain  an'  glen,  in  Ulsthcr,  Munsther,  Leins- 
ther,  an'  Connaught — not  forgcttin'  the  Highlands  of  Scotland, 
wiiere  there's  what  they  call  the  'short  prophecy,'  or  second 
sight,  but  wherein  there's  aftlier  all  but  little  of  tlie  Irish  or  long 
prophecy,  that  regards  what's  to  befall  the  winged  woman  that 
flew  into  the  wilderness.  No,  no— their  second  sight  isn't  thrue 
prophecy  at  all.  If  a  man  goes  out  to  fish,  or  steal  a  cow,  an' 
that  he  happens  to  be  drowned  or  shot,  another  man  that  ha5 
the  second  sight  will  sec  this  in  his  mind  about  or  afther  the 
time  it  happens.     Why,   that's  little.     Many  a  time  our  own 


THE    IRISH    PROPHECY    MAN.  21 

Irish  draraes  are  aiqual  to  it;  a;i'  indeed  I  have  it  from  a  know- 
ledgeable man,  that  the  gift  they  boast  of  has  four  parents— an 
empty  stomach,  thin  air,  a  weak  head,  an'  strou  whisky,  an' 
that  a  man  must  have  all  these,  espishilly  the  last,  before  he 
can  have  the  second  sight  properly;  an'  il's  my  own  opinion. 
Now,  I  have  a  little  book  (indeed  I  left  my  books  with  a  friend 
down  at  Errigle)  that  contains  a  prophecy  of  the  milk-white  hind 
an'  the  bloody  panther,  an'  a  forebodin'  of  the  slaughter  there's 
to  be  in  the  Valley  of  the  Black  Pig,  as  foretold  by  Beal  Derg, 
or  the  prophet  wid  the  red  mouth,  who  never  was  known  to 
speak  but  when  he  prophesied,  or  to  prophesy  but  when  he 
spoke." 

"  The  Lord  bless  and  keep  us  ! — an'  why  was  he  called  the 
Man  wid  the  Red  Mouth,  Barney?  " 

"I'll  tell  you  that;  first,  bekase  he  always  prophesied  about 
the  slaughter  and  fightin'  that  was  to  take  place  in  the  tiute 
to  come;  an',  secondly,  bekase,  while  he  spoke,  the  red  blood 
always  trickled  out  of  his  mouth,  as  a  proof  that  what  he  fore- 
tould  was  true." 

"Glory  be  to  God,  but  that's  wondherful  all  out.  Well,  well !" 

"Ay,  an'  Beal  Derg,  or  the  Red  Mouth,  is  still  livin'." 

"  Livin' !  why,  is  he  a  man  of  our  own  time  ?" 

"  Of  our  own  time  !  The  Lord  help  you  !  It's  more  than  a 
thousand  years  since  he  made  the  prophecy.  The  case,  you  see, 
is  this:  he  an'  the  ten  thousand  witnesses  are  lyin'  in  an  enchanted 
sleep  in  one  of  the  Montherlony  mountains." 

"  An'  how  is  that  known,  Barney  ?" 

'*  It's  known.  Every  night  at  a  certain  hour  one  of  the  wit- 
nesses— an'  they're  all  sogers,  by  the  way — must  come  out  to 
look  for  the  sign  that's  to  come." 

"An'  what  is  that,  Barney  ?" 

"  It's  the  fiery  cross;  an'  when  he  sees  one  on  aich  of  the  four 
mountains  of  the  north,  he's  to  know  that  the  same  sign's  abroad 
in  all  the  other  parts  of  the  kingdom.  Beal  Derg  an'  his  men  are 
then  to  waken  up,  an'  by  their  aid  the  Valley  of  the  Black  Kg 
is  to  be  set  free  forever." 


22  THE    ZOZmUS    PAPERS. 

"An'  what  is  the  Black  Pig,  Barney  ?" 

"The  Prospitarian  church,  that  stretches  from  Enniskillcn  to 
Darry,  an'  back  again  from  Darry  to  Enniskillen." 

Well,  well,  Barney,  but  prophecy  is  a  strange  thing  to  be 
sure  !     Only  think  of  men  livin'  a  thousand  years !" 

'  Every  night  one  of  Beal  Derg's  men  must  go  to  the  mouth 
of  the  cave,  which  opens  of  itself,  an'  then  look  out  for  the  sign 
that's  expected.  He  walks  up  to  the  top  of  the  mountain,  an' 
turns  to  the  four  comers  of  the  heavans,  to  thry  if  he  can  see  it; 
an'  when  he  finds  that  he  cannot,  he  goes  back  to  Beal  Dcrg,  who, 
afther  the  other  touches  him,  starts  up,  an'  axes  him,  '  Is  the 
time  come?'  He  replies,  '  No;  the  man  is,  but  the  hour  is  not !^ 
an'  that  instant  they're  both  asleep  again.  Now,  you  sec,  while 
the  soger  is  on  the  mountain  top,  the  mouth  of  the  cave  is  open, 
an'  any  one  may  go  in  that  might  happen  to  see  it.  One  man  it 
appears  did,  an'  wishin'  to  know  from  curiosity  whether  the 
sogers  were  dead  or  livin',  he  touched  one  of  them  wid  his  hand, 
who  started  up  an'  axed  him  the  same  question,  'Is  the  time 
come?'  Very  fortunately  he  said  '^ No;^  an'  that  minute  the 
soger  was  as  sound  in  his  trance  as  before." 

"An',  Barney,  what  did  the  soger  mane  when  he  said,  '  The 
man  is,  but  the  hour  is  not '  ?" 

"WTiat  did  he  mane?  I'll  tell  you  that.  Tlic  man  is  Bony- 
party;  which  manes,  when  put  into  proper  explanation,  the  right 
sidd ;  that  is,  the  true  cause.    Lamed  men  have  found  that  out." 

"Barney,  wasn't  Columkill  a  great  prophet?" 

"  He  was  a  great  man  entirely  at  prophecy.  He  prophesied 
'that  the  cock  wid  the  purple  comb  is  to  have  both  his  wings 
clipped  by  one  of  his  own  breed  before  the  struggle  come.'  Be- 
fore that  time,  too,  we're  to  have  the  Black  Militia,  an'  aftbcr 
that  it  is  time  for  every  man  to  be  prepared." 

"An',  Barney,  who  is  the  cock  wid  the  purple  comb?" 

"Wliy,  the  Orangemen  to  be  sure.  Isn't  purple  their  color, 
the  dirty  thieves?" 

"An'  the  Black  Militia,  Barney,  who  are  they?" 

"I  have  gone  far  an'  near,  through  north  an'  through  south, 


THE    IRISH    PROPHF.CY    MA-JI.  23 

ap  an'  down,  by  hill  an'  hollow,  till  my  toes  were  corned  an' 
my  heels  in  griskins,  but  could  find  no  one  able  to  resolve  that, 
or  bring  it  char  out  o'  the  prophecy.  They're  to  be  sogers  in 
black,  an'  all  their  arms  an'  'coutrements  is  to  be  the  sai^ie  color; 
an'  farther  than  that  is  not  known  as  yd.''' 

"It's  a  vvondher  ;i'('.7  don't  know  it,  Bamey,  for  there's  little 
about  prophecy  that  you  haven't  at  your  finger  ends." 

"Three  birds  is  to  meet  (Bamey  proceeded  in  a  kind  of  recita- 
tive enthusiasm)  upon  the  saes — two  ravens  an'  a  dove — the  two 
ravens  is  to  attack  the  dove  until  she's  at  the  point  of  death;  but 
before  they  take  her  life,  r.n  eagle  comes  and  tears  the  two  ravens 
to  pieces,  an'  the  dove  recovers. 

"  There's  to  be  tv/o  cries  in  the  kingdom-,  one  of  them  is  to 
rache  from  the  Giants'  Causeway  to  the  centre  house  of  the  town 
of  Sligo ;  the  other  i.=;  to  rache  from  the  Falls  of  Belcek  to  the 
Mill  of  Louth,  which  is  to  be  turned  three  times  with  human 
blood;  but  this  is  not  to  happen  until  a  man  with  two  thumbs  an' 
six  fingers  upon  his  right  hand  happens  to  be  the  miller." 

"  Who's  to  give  the  sign  of  freedom  to  Ireland  ?" 

"The  little  boy  wid  the  red  coat  that's  bom  a  dwarf,  lives  a 
giant,  and  dies  a  dwarf  again !  lie's  lightest  of  foot,  but  leaves 
the  heaviest  foot-mark  behind  him.  An'  it's  he  that  is  to  give 
the  sign  of  freedom  to  Ireland  !" 

"There's  a  period  to  come  v/hen  Antichrist  is  to  be  upon  the 
earth,  attended  by  his  two  body  servants,  Gog  and  Magog.  WTio 
are  they,  Bamey  ?" 

"They  are  the  sons  of  Hegog  an'  Shegog,  or  in  other  words 
of  Death  an'  Destruction,  and  cousin-jarmins  to  the  evil  one 
himself,  which  of  coorse  is  the  raison  why  he  promotes  them." 

"Lord  save  u; !  But  I  hope  that  won't  be  in  our  time,  Bar- 
ney !" 

"Antichri--t  is  to  come  from  ihc  land  of  Crame  o'  Tarthar 
(Crim  Tartary),  which  will  account  for  himself  an'  his  army 
breathin'  fire  u.i'  brimstone  out  of  their  mouths. 

"  The  prophet  of  the  Black  Stone  is  to  come,  who  was  bom  never 
to  prognosticate  a  lie.     He  is  to  be  a  mighty  hunter,  an'  instead 


24  THE    ZOZIML'S    PAPERS. 

of  riding  to  his  fetlocks  in  blood,  he  is  to  ride  upon  it,  to  the  ad- 
miration of  his  times.  It's  of  him  it  is  said  '  that  he  is  to  lie  the 
only  prophet  that  ever  went  on  horseback  !' 

"  Then  there's  Bardolphns,  who,  as  there  was  a  prophet  wid  the 
red  mouth,  is  called  'the  prophet  wid  the  red  nose.'  Ireland 
was,  it  appears  from  ancient  books,  undher  waiher  for  many 
hundred  years  before  her  discovery  ;  but  bein'  allowed  to  become 
visible  one  day  in  every  year,  the  enchantment  was  broken  by  a 
sword  that  was  thrown  upon  the  earth,  an'  from  that  out  she  re- 
mained dry,  an'  became  inliabited.  'Woe,  woe,  woe,'  says 
Bardolphus,  '  the  time  is  to  come  when  we'll  have  a  second  del- 
uge, an'  Ireland  is  to  be  undher  vvath.cr  once  more.  A  well  is 
to  open  at  Cork  that  will  cover  the  whole  island  from  the  Giants' 
Causeway  to  Cape  Clear.  In  them  days  St.  Patrick  will  be  de- 
spised, an'  will  stand  over  the  pleasant  houses  wid  his  pasthoral 
crook  in  hand,  crying  out  Ci\rd  mille  failtJia  in  vain!  Woe, 
woe,  woe,'  says  Bard  )lphus,  'for  in  them  days  there  will  he  a 
great  confusion  of  colors  among  the  people  ;  there  will  be  neither 
red  noses  nor  pale  checks,  an'  the  divine  face  of  man,  alas  !  will 
put  forth  blossoms  no  more.  The  heart  of  the  times  will  become 
changed  ;  an'  when  they  rise  up  in  the  morning,  it  will  come  to 
pass  that  there  will  be  no  longer  light  heads  or  shaking  hands 
among  Irishmen  !  Woe,  woe,  woe,  men,  women  and  children 
will  then  die,  an'  their  only  complamt,  like  all  those  who  perish- 
ed in  the  flood  of  ould,  will  1^  wathcr  on  the  brain — wather  on 
the  brain!  Woe,  woe,  woe,'  says  Bardolphus,  '  for  the  changes 
that  is  to  come,  an'  the  misfortunes  that's  to  befall  the  many  for 
the  noddification  of  the  few  !  an'  yet  such  things  must  be,  for  I, 
in  virtue  of  the  red  spirit  that  dwells  in  mc,  must  prophesy. them. 
In  those  times  men  will  lie  shod  in  liquid  fire  an'  not  be  burned  ; 
their  breeches  shall  be  made  of  fire,  an"  will  not  burn  them  ;  their 
bread  shall  lie  made  of  fire,  an'  will  not  burn  them  ;  their  meat 
shall  be  made  of  fire,  an'  will  not  burn  them  ;  an'  why? — Oh, 
woe,  woe,  waiher  shall  so  prevail  that  the  coolness  of  their  bodies 
will  keep  them  safe  ;  yea,  they  shall  even  get  fat,  fair,  an'  ho.  full 
of  health  an'    strength,    by   wearing  garments   wrought  out  of 


THE    IRISH    PROPHECY   MAN,  2$ 

liquid  fire,  by  eating  liquid  fire,  an'  all  because  they  do  not 
drink  liquid  fire — an'  this  calamity  shall  come  to  pass,'  says 
Bardolphus,  the  prophet  of  the  red  nose. 

"  Two  widows  shall  be  grinding  at  the  Mill  of  Louth  (so  saith 
the  prophecy)  ;  one  shall  be  taken  and  the  other  left." 

Thus  would  Barney  proceed,  repeating  such  ludicrous  and 
heterogeneous  mixtures  of  old  traditionary  prophecies  and  spu- 
rious quotations  from  Scripture  as  were  concocted  for  him  by 
those  who  took  delight  in  amusing  themselves  and  others  at  the 
expense  of  his  inordinate  love  for  prophecy. 

"But,  Barney,  touching  the  Mill  o'  Louth,  of  the  two  widows 
grindin'  there,  whelher  will  the  one  that  is  taken  or  the  one  that 
is  left  be  the  best  off?" 

"  The  prophecy  doesn't  say,"  replied  Barney,  "  an'  that's  a 
matther  that  larned  men  are  very  much  divided  about.  My  own 
opinion  is,  that  the  one  that  is  taken  will  be  the  best  off ;  betune 
wars  an'  pestilences  an'  famine,  the  men  are  to  be  so  scarce  that 
several  of  them  are  to  be  torn  to  pieces  by  the  women  in  their 
struggles  to  see  who  will  get  them  for  husbands.  That  time 
they  say  is  to  come." 

Such  were  the  speculations  upon  which  the  harmless  mind  of 
Barney  M'Haighrey  ever  dwelt.  From  house  to  house,  from 
parish  to  parish,  and  from  province  to  province,  did  he  thus 
trudge,  never  in  a  hurry,  but  always  steady  and  constant  in  his 
motions.  He  might  be  not  inaptly  tenned  the  Old  Mortality  of 
traditionary  prophecy,  which  he  often  chiseled  anew,  added  to, 
and  imoroved,  in  a  manner  that  generally  gratified  himself  and 
his  hearers.  lie  was  a  harmless,  kind  man,  and  never  known  to 
stand  in  need  of  either  clothes  or  money.  He  paid  little  attention 
to  the  silent  business  of  ongoing  life,  and  was  consequently  very 
nearly  an  abstraction.  He  was  always  on  the  alert,  however,  for 
the  result  of  a  battle  ;  and  after  having  heard  it,  he  would  give 
no  opinion  whatsoever  until  he  had  first  silently  compared  it  with 
his  own  private  theory  in  prophecy.  If  it  agreed  with  this,  he 
immediately  published  it  in  connection  with  his  established  text  ; 
but  if  it  did  not,  he  never  opened  his  lips  on  the  subject. 


i6  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

His  class  has  disappeared,  and  indeed  it  is  so  much  the  better, 
for  the  minds  of  the  people  were  thus  filled  with  antiquated  non- 
sense that  did  them  no  good.  Poor  Barney,  to  his  great  mortifi- 
cation, lived  to  see  with  his  own  eyes  the  failure  of  his  most 
favorite  prophecies,  but  he  was  not  to  be  disheartened  even  by 
this  ;  though  some  might  fail,  all  could  not ;  and  his  stock  was 
too  varied  and  extensive  not  to  furnish  him  with  a  su.licient  num- 
ber of  others  over  which  to  cherish  his  imagination  and  expatiate 
dur»ng  the  remainder  of  his  inoffensive  life. 


THE    DESERTEBL  2J 


THE    DESERTER. 


[In  the  course  of  his  desultory  peregrinations  our  poet  necessa- 
rily encountered  many  a  strange  and  humorous  companicn,  and 
he  seldom  was  at  a  loss  to  discovcF  their  salient  attractive 
points,  and  witliout  any  apparent  effort,  induce  them  to  lay 
open  before  him  whatever  mental  treasures  they  possessed. 
It  was  from  these  humble  sources  that  he  gathered  the  materials 
for  some  of  his  most  comical  and  interesting  stories,  and  that  which 
we  next  lay  before  our  readers  it  is  supposed  was  first  related 
to  Zozimus  by  a  veteran  soldier— a  relic  of  Waterloo — and  having 
received  from  the  poet  some  of  his  characteristic  touches,  after- 
wards delighted  many  a  charmed  audience.  Although  the  form 
under  which  we  present  it  to  our  readers  has  come  through  tlie 
hands  of  one  of  Ireland's  most  distinguished  litterateurs,  it  is  yet 
but  a  faint  reflex  of  the  poet's  version,  in  the  absence  of  which  we 
must  be  content  with  that  of  Lever:] 


"Well,  it's  a  good  many  years  ago  my  father  'listed  in  the 
North  Cork,  just  to  oblige  ]Mr.  Barry,  the  landlord  there;  '  For,' 
says  he,  '  Phil,'  says  he,  '  it's  not  a  soldier  ye'll  be  at  all,  but  my 
own  man,  to  brush  my  clothes  and  go  errands,  and  the  like  6' 
that,  and  the  king,  long  life  to  him,  will  help  to  pay  ye  fjr  your 
trouble — ye  understand  me.'  Well,  my  father  agreed,  and  Mr. 
Barry  was  as  good  as  his  word.  Never  a  guard  did  my  father 
mount,  nor  as  much  as  a  drdl  had  he,  nor  a  roll-call,  nor  any 
thing  at  all,  save  and  except  wait  on  the  Captain,  his  master,  just 
as  pleasant  as  need  be,  and  no  inconvenience  in  life. 


28  THE  ZOZIMUS  PAPERS. 

•»  Well,  for  three  years  this  went  on  as  I'm  telling,  and  the 
regiment  was  ordered  down  to  Bantry,  because  of  a  report  that 
the  'boys'  was  rising  down  there;  and  the  second  evening  there 
was  a  night  party  patrolling,  with  Captain  Barry,  for  six  hours 
in  the  rain,  and  the  Captain,  God  be  marciful  to  him,  tulc  cowld 
and  died;  more  betoken,  they  said  it  was  drink,  but  my  father 
says  it  wasn't;  '  For,'  says  he,  '  after  he  tuk  eight  tumljlers  com- 
fortable,' my  father  mixed  the  ninth,  and  the  Captain  waved  his 
hand  tliis  way,  as  much  as  to  say  he'd  have  no  more.  '  Is  it 
that  ye  mean?'  says  my  father,  and  the  Captain  nodded. 
•Musha,  but  it's  sorry  I  am,' says  my  father,  'to  see  you  this 
way,  for  ye  must  be  bad  entirely  to  leave  off  in  the  beginning  of 
the  evening.'  And  thrae  for  him,  the  Captain  was  dead  in  tlie 
morning. 

"  A  sorrowful  day  it  was  for  my  father,  when  he  died;  it  was 
the  finest  place  in  the  world;  little  to  do;  plenty  of  divarsion; 
and  a  kind  man  he  was — when  he  was  sober.  Well,  then,  when 
the  Captain  was  buried,  and  all  was  over,  my  fatlier  hoped  they'd 
be  for  letting  him  away;  as  he  said,  '  Sure,  I'm  no  use  in  life  to 
anybody  save  the  man  that's  gone,  for  his  ways  are  all  I  know, 
and  I  never  was  a  sodger.'  But,  upon  my  conscience,  they  had 
other  thoughts  in  their  heads;  for  they  ordered  him  into  the  ranks 
to  be  drilled  just  like  the  recruits  they  took  the  day  before. 

•' '  Musha,  isn't  this  hard  ?'  said  my  fatlier;  '  here  I  am  an  ould 
vitrin  that  ought  to  be  discharged  on  a  pension,  with  two-and-ax 
pence  a  day,  obliged  to  go  capering  about  the  barrack-yard  prac- 
ticmg  the  goose  stcj),  or  some  other  nonsense  not  beroming  my 
age  nor  my  habits;'  but  so  it  was.  Well,  this  went  on  for  some 
time,  and  sure,  if  they  were  hard  on  my  father,  didn't  h2  li.;ve 
his  revenge,  for  he  nigh  broke  tlieir  hearts  with  his  stupidity;  oil! 
nothing  in  life  could  equal  him;  not  a  thing,  no  matter  h,,)W 
easy,  he  could  learn  at  all;  and  so  far  from  caring  for  being  in 
confinement,  it  was  that  he  liked  best.  Every  sergeant  in  the 
regiment  had  a  trial  of  him,  but  all  to  no  good,  and  he  seemed 
striving  so  hard  to  learn  all  the  while,  that  they  were  loth  to  punish 
him,  the  ould  rogue ! 


THE    DESERTER,  2^ 

"  This  was  going  on  for  some  time,  when,  one  clay,  news  came 
in  that  a  body  of  the  rebels,  as  they  called  them,  was  coming 
down  from  the  Gap  of  Mulnavick  to  storm  the  town  and  bum  all 
before  them.  The  whole  regiment  was,  of  coors;,  under  arms, 
and  great  preparations  were  made  for  a  battle;  meanwhile  patrols 
were  ordered  to  scour  the  roads,  and  sentries  posted  at  every  turn 
of  the  way,  and  every  rising  ground,  to  give  warning  when  the 
boys  came  in  sight,  and  my  father  was  placed  at  tlie  bridge  of 
Drumsnag,  in  the  wildest  and  bleakest  part  of  the  whole  country, 
with  nothing  but  furze  mountains  on  every  side,  and  a  straight 
road  going  over  the  top  of  them. 

"  '  This  is  pleasant,'  says  my  father,  as  soon  as  they  left  him 
there  alone  by  himself,  with  no  human  crayture  to  speak  to,  nor 
a  whisky  shop  within  ten  miles  of  him;  'cowld  comfort,'  says 
he,  'on  a  winter's  day;  and  faix,  but  I've  a  mind  to  give  ye  the 
slip.' 

"  Well,  he  put  his  gun  down  on  the  bridge,  and  he  lit  his  pipe, 
and  he  sat  down  under  an  ould  tree,  and  began  to  ru.ninate  upon 
his  affairs. 

"  '  Oh,  then,  it's  wishing  it  well  I  am,'  says  he,  '  for  sodgering; 
and  ill  will  to  the  hammer  that  struck  the  shilling  that  'listed  me, 
that's  all,'  for  he  was  mighty  low  in  his  heart. 

"Just  then  a  noise  came  rattling  down  near  him;  he  listened, 
and  before  he  could  get  on  his  legs,  down  comes  the  General, 
ould  Cohoon,  with  an  orderly  after  him. 

♦"Who  goes  that  ?  '  says  my  father. 

•'•The  round,'  says  the  General,  looking  about  all  the  time  to 
see  where  was  the  sentry,  for  my  father  was  snug  under  the  tree. 

•«  *  What  round  ?  '  says  my  father. 

•"  The  grand  round,'  says  the  General,  more  puzzled  than 
afore. 

"  '  Pass  on,  grand  round,  and  God  save  you  kindly,'  says  my 
father,  putting  his  pipe  in  his  mouth  again,  for  he  thought  all 
was  over. 

"  'Where  are  you?  '  says  the  General;  for  sorrow  bit  of  my 
father  could  he  see  yet- 


30  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"  'It's  here  I  am,'  says  he,  'and  a  cowld  place  I  have  of  it; 
and  av  it  wasn't  for  the  pq^e  I'd  bi  lost  entirely.' 

"The  words  wasn't  well  out  of  his  mouth,  when  the  General 
began  laughing  till  ye'd  think  he'd  fall  off  his  horse;  and  the 
dragoon  behmd  him— more  by  tol^en,  they  say  it  wasn't  right  for 
him — laughed  as  Ijud  as  himself. 

"  '  Ver  a  droll  sentry,'  says  the  General,  as  soon  as  he  could 
speak. 

"  '  Be  goira,  it's  little  fun  there's  left  in  me,'  says  my  father, 
*  with  this  drilling  and  parading,  and  thrampin'  about  the  roads 
all  nigJit.' 

"  '  And  is  this  the  way  you  salute  your  ofticer?  '  says  the  Gen- 
eral. 

"  'Just  so,'  says  my  father,  'sarra  a  more  politeness  ever  they 
taught  me.' 

"  'What  regiment  do  you  belong  to  ?  '  says  the  General. 

"  '  The  North  Cork,'  says  my  father,  with  a  sigh. 

"  '  They  ought  to  be  proud  of  ye,'  says  the  General. 

"'I'm  sorry  for  it,'  says  my  fatlier,  son-owfuUy,  'for  maybe 
they'll  keep  me  the  longer.' 

'"Well,  my  good  fellow,'  says  the  General,  'I  haven't  more 
time  to  waste  here ;  but  let  me  leach  you  something  before  I  go. 
Whenever  your  officer  passes,  it's  your  duty  to  present  arms  to 
him.' 

" '  Arrali,  it's  jokin'  ye  are,'  says  my  father. 

'"No,  I'm  in  earnest,'  says  he,  'as  ye  might  learn  to  your 
cost  if  I  brought  you  to  a  court-martiai.' 

" 'We'll,  there's  no  knowing,'  s;\ys  my  father,  'what  they'd 
be  up  to;  but  sure  if  that's  all,  I'll  do  it  with  all  "  the  veins," 
whenever  ycr  coming  this  way  again.' 

"  The  Gcncr.d  began  to  laugli  again  here,  but  said: 

"  '  I'm  coming  back  in  tl:e  evening,'  says  he,  'and  mind  you 
don't  fjrget  your  respect  to  your  officer.' 

'•'  'Never  fear,  s'.r,*  says  my  father,  'and  many  tlianks  to  you 
for  your  kindness  for  telling  me.' 

"Away  went  the  General,  and  the  orderly  after  him,  and  in 
ten  minutes  they  were  out  of  sight. 


\ 


THE   DESERTER.  3 1 

"  The  night  was  falling  fast,  and  one-half  of  the  mountain  was 
quite  dark  already,  when  my  father  began  to  think  they  were 
forgetting  him  entirely.  He  looked  one  way,  and  he  looked  an- 
other, but  sorra  bit  of  a  sergeant's  guard  was  coming  to  relieve 
him.  There  he  was,  fresh  and  fasting,  and  daren't  go  for  the 
bare  life.  *I'll  give  you  a  quarter  of  an  hour  more,'  says  my 
father,  *till  the  light  leaves  that  rock  up  there;  after  that,'  says 
he,  •  I'll  be  off,  av  it  cost  me  what  it  may  !' 

"  Well,  sure  enough,  his  courage  was  not  needed  tliis  time; 
for  what  did  he  see  at  the  same  moment  but  the  shadow  of  some- 
thing coming  down  the  road,  opposite  the  bridge;  he  looked 
again;  and  then  he  made  out  the  General  himself,  that  was 
walking  his  horse  down  the  steep  part  of  tlie  mountain,  followed 
by  the  orderly.  My  father  immediately  took  up  his  musket  off 
the  wall,  settled  his  belts,  shook  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  and 
put  it  in  his  pocket,  making  himself  as  smart  and  neat-looking  as 
he  could  be,  determining,  when  ould  Cohoon  came  up,  to  ask 
him  for  leave  to  go  home,  at  least  for  the  night.  Well,  by  this 
time  the  General  was  turning  a  sharp  part  of  the  cliff  that  looks 
down  upon  the  bridge,  from  where  you  might  look  five  miles 
round  on  every  side.  *  He  sees  me,'  says  my  father;  *  but  I'll  be 
just  as  quick  as  himself.'  No  sooner  said  than  done;  for  coming 
forward  to  the  parapet  of  the  bridge,  he  up  with  his  musket  to 
his  shoulder,  and  presented  it  straight  at  the  General.  It  wasn't 
well  there,  when  the  of^ccr  pulled  up  his  horse  quite  short,  and 
shouted  out,  '  Sentry — sentry  !' 

" '  Anan !'  says  my  father,  still  covering  lum. 

♦' '  Down  with  your  musket,  you  rascal;  don't  you  see  it's  the 
grand  round  ? ' 

"To  be  sure  I  do,'  says  my  father,  never  changing  for  a 
minute. 

•*'The  rufiian  will  shoot  me,'  says  the  General. 

'♦  *  Not  a  fear,'  says  my  father,  '  av  it  doesn't  go  off  of  itself.' 

•"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  you  villain ?' says  the  Gen- 
eral, scarce  able  to  speak  with  fright,  for  every  turn  he  gave  on 
his  horse  my  father  followed  with  the  gun— 'What  do  you 
mean? ' 


32  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

*'  'Sure,  aint  I  presenting?'  says  my  father;  'tear  an'  sges, 
do  you  want  me  to  fire  next?' 

"With  that  the  General  drew  a  pistol  from  his  holster,  and 
took  deliberate  aim  at  my  father;  and  there  they  l)olh  stood  for 
live  minutes,  looking  at  each  other,  the  orderly,  all  the  while, 
breaking  his  heart  laughing  behind  the  rock ;  for,  yc  see,  the  Gen- 
eral knew  av  he  retreated  that  my  father  might  fire  on  purpose, 
and  av  he  came  on  that  he  might  fire  by  chance ;  and  sorra  btt 
he  knew  what  was  best  to  l>e  done. 

*'  'Are  ye  going  to  pass  tlie  evening  up  there,  grand  round?' 
says  my  father,  '  for  it's  tired  I'm  getting  houldin'  this  so  Icmg !' 

"  'Port  arms,'  shouted  the  General,  as  if  on  parade. 

"  '  Sure  I  can't,  till  yer  passed,'  says  my  father,  angrily,  'and 
my  hand's  trembling  already.' 

"  '  By  Jove  !  I  shall  be  shot,'  says  the  General. 

"  '  Be  gorra,  it's  what  I'm  afraid  of,'  says  my  father;  and  the 
words  wasn't  out  of  his  mouth  before  off  went  liie  musket,  bang, 
and  down  fell  the  General,  smack  on  the  ground,  senseless.  Well, 
the  orderly  ran  out  at  this,  and  took  him  up  and  examined  his 
wound;  but  it  wasn't  a  wound  at  all,  only  the  wadding  of  the 
gun,  for  my  father — God  be  kind  to  him— ye  seo,  could  do  noth- 
ing right,  and  so  he  bit  off  the  wrong  end  of  the  cartridge  wlien 
he  put  it  in  the  gun,  and  by  reason  there  was  no  bullet  in  it. 
Well,  from  that  day  after  they  never  got  sight  of  him,  for  the  in- 
stant the  General  dropiied,  he  sprung  over  the  bridge  wall,  and 
got  away;  and  what,  between  living  in  a  lime-kiln  for  two 
months,  eating  nothing  but  blackberries  and  sloes,  and  other  dis- 
guises, he  never  returned  to  the  army,  but  ever  after  took  to  a 
civil  situation,  and  driv  a  hearse  for  many  years." 


THE    MATCHMAKER.  33 


THE  MATCHMAKER. 

[If  there  was  anything  which  the  gifted,  but  for  a  time  neglect- 
ed story-teller  and  iniprovvisatore,  loved  to  dwell  on  more  than  an- 
other, it  was  the  ancient  customs  of  the  people  of  his  own  class — 
customs  and  habits  which  even  in  his  day  were  fast  dying  out. 
All  that  concerned  the  afiections  of  the  peasiintry  and  the  hum- 
bler denizens  of  his  native  city,  were  to  him  of  much  more  im- 
portance than  the  simulated  love  and  friendship  of  what  are  some- 
times called  the  higher  classes.  His  description  of  the  Cosherer, 
or  Matchmaker,  which,  as  soon  as  it  became  known,  found  its 
way,  "with  notes  and  comments,"  into  a  Dublin  magazine,  is 
particularly  good,  though  the  occupation  of  the  Rose  Moans  is 
pretty  well  gone  in  these  latter  tinsentimental  days.  We  will, 
however,  give  the  sketch  as  nearly  as  possible  as  he  related  it, 
though,  of  course,  somewhat  improved  by  his  more  accomplished 
plagiarist.] 

One  of  the  best  specimens  of  the  Cosherer,  or  Ma.chmaker,  I 
ever  met  was  old  Rose  Mahon,  or,  as  she  was  callea  Moan,  a 
name,  we  doubt,  fearfully  expressive  of  the  consequences  which 
too  frequently  followed  her  negotiations.  Rose  was  a  tidy 
creature  cf  middle  size,  who  always  went  dressed  in  a  short 
crimson  cloak  much  faded,  a  striped  red  and  blue  drugget  petti- 
coat, and  a  heather-colored  gown  of  the  same  fabric.  When 
walking,  which  she  did  with  the  aid  of  a  light  hazel  staff  hooked 
at  the  top,  she  generally  kept  the  hood  of  her  cloak  over  her 
head,  which  gave  her  whole  figure  a  picturesque  effect;  and  when 
she  threv.'  it  back  one  could  not  help  admiring  how  well  her  small 
but  symmetrical  features  agreed  with  the  dowd  cap  of  white 
linen,  with  a  plain  muslin  border,  which  she  wore.     A  pair  of 


34  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

blue  stockings  and  sharp-pointed  shoes  high  in  the  heels  com- 
pleted her  dress.  Her  features  were  good-natured  and  Irish; 
but  there  lay  over  the  whole  countenance  an  expression  of  quick- 
ness and  sagacity,  contracted  no  doubt  by  a  habitual  exercise  of 
penetration  and  circumspection.  At  the  time  I  saw  her  she  was 
very  old,  and  I  believe  had  the  reputation  of  being  the  last  in 
that  part  of  the  country  who  was  known  to  go  about  from  house 
to  house  spinning  on  the  distaff,  an  instrament  which  has  now 
passed  away,  being  more  conveniently  replaced  by  the  spinning- 
wheel. 

The  manner  and  style  of  Rose's  visits  were  different  from  those 
of  any  other  who  could  come  to  a  famier's  house,  or  even  to  an 
humble  cottage,  for  to  the  inmates  of  both  were  her  services 
equally  rendered.  Let  us  suppose,  for  instance,  the  whole  f(5male 
part  of  a  farmer's  family  assembled  of  a  summer  evening  about 
five  o'clock,  each  engaged  in  some  domestic  employment;  in 
runs  a  lad  who  has  been  sporting  about,  breathlessly  exclaiming, 
whilst  his  eyes  are  lit  up  with  delight,  "  Mother  !  mother !  here's 
Rose  Moan  coming  down  the  boreen  !"  "Get  out,  avick;  no 
she's  not."  "  Bad  cess  to  me  but  she  is;  that  I  may  never  stir  if 
she  isn't !  Now  !"  The  whole  family  are  instantly  at  the  door 
to  see  if  it  be  she,  v/ith  the  exception  of  the  prettiest  of  them  all, 
Kitty,  who  sits  at  her  wheel,  and  immediately  begins  to  croon 
over  an  old  Irish  air  which  is  sadly  out  of  tune;  and  well  do  we 
know,  notwitlistanding  the  mellow  tones  of  that  sweet  voice,  why 
it  is  so,  and  also  why  that  youthful  cheek  in  which  licalth  and 
beauty  meet  is  now  the  color  of  crimson. 

•'  Oh,  Roshii,  acnshla,  ccad  millia  faille  glnid !  (Rose,  dar- 
lin',  a  hundred  thousand  welcomes  to  you  !)  Och,  musha,  what 
kep'  you  away  so  long.  Rose  ?  Sure  you  won't  lave  us  this  month 
o'  Sundays,  Rose?"  are  only  a  few  of  the  cordial  expressions  of 
hospitality  and  kindness  with  which  she  is  received.  But  Kitty, 
whose  check  but  a  moment  ago  was  carmine,  why  is  it  now  pale 
as  the  lily? 

"  An'  what  news,  Rose  ?"  asks  one  of  her  sisters,  '*  sure  you'll 
tell  us  eveiythinrj;  won't  you?" 


THE    MATCHMAKER.  35 

**Throth,  avillish,  I  have  no  bad  news,  anyhow — an'  as  lo 
tellin'  you  «//— Biddy,  Ihig  dumh,  let  me  alone.  No,  I  have  no 
bad  news,  God  be  praised,  but  good  news. ''^ 

Kitty's  cheek  is  again  crimson,  and  her  lips,  ripe  and  red  as 
cherries,  expand  with  the  sweet  soft  smile  of  her  country,  exhibit- 
ing a  set  of  teeth  for  which  many  a  countess  would  barter  thous- 
ands, and  giving  out  a  breath  more  delicious  than  the  fragrance 
of  a  summei  meadow.  Oh,  no  wonder,  indeed,  that  tlie  kind 
heart  of  Rose  contains  in  its  recesses  a  message  to  her  as  tender 
as  ever  was  transmitted  from  man  to  woman  ! 

"An',  Ivitty,  acushla,  where's  the  welcome  ixQva.  yoii,  that's 
my  favorite?  Now  don't  be  jealous,  childre;  sure  you  all  know 
she  is,  an'  ever  an'  always  was." 

"  If  it's  not  upon  my  lips,  it's  in  my  heart.  Rose,  an'  from  that 
heart  you're  welcome  !" 

She  rises  up  and  kisses  Rose,  who  gives  her  one  glance  of 
meaning,  accompanied  by  the  slightest  imaginable  smile;  and  a 
gentle  but  significant  pressure  of  the  hand,  which  thrills  to  her 
heart  and  diffuses  a  sense  of  ecstasy  through  hei  whole  spirit. 
Nothing  now  remains  but  the  opportunity,  which  is  equally 
sought  for  hy  Rose  and  her,  to  hear  without  interruption  the  pur- 
port of  her  lover's  communication;  and  this  we  leave  to  lovers  to 
imagine. 

In  some  parts  of  Ireland,  however,  there  occur  among  the 
very  poorest  classes  some  of  the  hardest  and  most  penurious 
bargains  in  matchmaking  that  ever  were  heard  of  or  known. 
Now  strangers  might  imagine  that  all  this  close  higgling  pro- 
ceeds from  a  spirit  naturally  mean  and  sordid,  but  it  is  not  so. 
The  real  secret  of  it  lies  in  the  poverty  and  necessity  of  the  parties, 
and  chiefly  in  the  bitter  experience  of  their  parents,  who,  having 
come  together  in  a  state  of  d;slitution,  are  anxious,  each  as  much 
at  the  expense  of  the  other  as  possible,  to  prevent  their  children 
from  experiencing  the  same  privation  and  misery  which  they 
themselves  felt.  Many  a  lime  have  matches  been  suspended  or 
altogether  broken  off  because  one  party  refuses  to  give  his  son  a 
slip  of  a  pig,  or  another  his  daughter  a  pair  of  blankets;  and  it 


^6  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

was  no  unusual  thing  for  a  matchmaker  to  say,  "Nevermind; 
I  have  it  all  settled  liii  t!.c  s/ip."  One  might  naturally  wonder 
why  those  who  arc  so  shrewd  and  provident  upon  this  subject  do 
not  strive  to  prevent  early  marriages  where  the  poverty  is  so 
great.  So,  unquestionably,  they  ought,  but  it  is  a  settled  usage 
of  the  country,  and  one,  too,  which  Irishmen  have  never  been  in 
the  habit  of  considering  as  an  evil.  We  have  no  doubt  that  if 
they  once  began  to  reason  upon  it  as  such,  they  would  be  very 
strongly  disposed  to  check  a  custom  which  has  been  the  means 
of  involving  themselves  and  their  unhappy  offspring  in  misery 
and  penury. 

Rose,  lilce  many  othexs  in  this  world  who  are  not  conscious  of 
the  same  failing,  smelt  strongly  of  the  shop;  in  other  words,  her 
conversation  had  a  strong  matrimonial  tendency.     No  two  beings 
ever  lived  so  decidedly  antithetical  to  each  other  in  this  point  of 
view  as  the  Matchmaker  and  the  Keener.     Mention  the  name 
of  an  individual  or  a  family  to  the  Keener,   and  the  medium 
through  which  her  memory  passes  back  to  them  is  that  of  her 
professed  employment— a  mourner  at  wakes  and  funerals. 
"Don't  you  know  young  Kelly  of  Tamlaght?" 
"I  do,  avick,"  replies  the  Keener,  "and  what  about  him?'' 
"Why,  he  was  married  to-day  momin'  to  ould  Jack  McClus- 
key's  daughter." 

"Well,  God  grant  them  luck  an'  happiness,  poor  things  !  I 
do  indeed  rememlx;r  his  father's  wake  an'  funeral  well— ould 
Risthard  Kelly  of  Tandaght — a  dacent  corpse  he  made  for  his 
years,  an'  well  he  looked.  But  indeed  I  kncwn  by  the  color 
that  sted  in  his  cheeks,  an'  the  limbs  remainin'  soople  for  the 
twenty-four  hours  aflher  his  departure,  that  some  of  the  family 
'ud  follow  him  afore  the  year  was  out;  an'  so  she  did.  The 
youngest  daughter,  poor  thing,  by  raison  of  a  cowld  she  got,  over- 
heatin'  herself  at  a  dance,  was  stretched  beside  him  that  very  day 
was  cloven  months;  and  God  knows  it  was  from  the  heart  my 
grief  came  for  her — to  see  the  poor  handsome  colleen  laid  low  so 
soon.  But  when  a  gullopin'  consumption  sets  in,  avoumeen, 
sure  we  all  know  what's  to  happen.     In  Crockaniska  church-yard 


THE    MATCHMAKER.  37 

they  sleep — the  Lord  make  both  their  beds  in  heaven  this  day  !" 
The  very  reverse  of  this^  but  at  the  same  time  as  inveterately 
professional,  was  Rose  Moan. 

"God  save  you,  Rose." 

"  God  save  you  kindly,  avick.  Eh  ! — let  me  look  at  you  ! 
Aren't  you  red  Billy  M'Guirk's  son  from  Ballagh?" 

"  I  am,  Rose.  An'  Rose,  how  is  yourself  an'  the  world  gettin' 
an  .'" 

"  Can't  complain,  dear,  in  such  times.  How  are  ycz  all  at 
home,  alanna?"  "  Faix,  middlin'  well.  Rose,  thank  God  an' 
you.     You  heard  of  my  grand-uncle's  death,  big  Ned  M'Coul?" 

"I  did,  avick,  God  rest  him.  Sure  it's  well  I  remimber  his 
weddin',  poor  man,  by  the  same  atoken  that  I  know  one  that 
helped  him  on  with  it  a  thriflc.  He  was  married  in  a  blue  coat 
and  buckskins,  and  wore  a  scarlet  waistcoat  that  you'd  see  three 
miles  off.  Oh,  well  I  remimber  it.  An'  whin  he  was  settin'  out 
that  momin'  to  the  priest's  house — 'Ned,'  says  I,  an'  I  whis- 
pered him,  '  dhrop  a  button  on  the  right  knee  afore  you  get  the 
words  said.'  '  ThigJiiim,^  said  he  wid  a  smile,  an'  he  slipped 
ten  thirteens  into  my  hand  as  he  spoke.  'I'll  do  it,'  said  he, 
'  and  thin  a  fig  for  the  fairies !'  becase,  you  see,  if  there's  a  but- 
ton of  the  right  knee  left  unbuttoned,  the  fairies — this  day's  Fri- 
day, God  stand  betune  us  and  harm  ! — can  do  neither  hurt  nor 
harm  to  sowl  or  body,  an'  sure  that's  agreatblessin',  avick.  He 
left  two  fine  slips  o'  girls  behind  him." 

"  He  did  so — as  good-lookin'  girls  as  there's  in  the  parish." 

"  Faix,  an'  kind  mother  for  tbem,  avick.  She'll  be  marryin' 
agin,  I'm  judgin',  she  bein'  sicli  a  fresh,  good-lookin'  woman." 

"Why,  it's  very  likely,  Rose." 

"  Throth  its  natural,  achora.  What  can  a  lone  woman  do 
wid  such  a  large  farm  upon  her  hands,  widout  having  some 
one  to  manage  it  for  her,  an'  prevint  her  from  bein'  imposed 
on  ?  But  indeed  the  first  thing  she  ought  to  do  is  to  marry  off 
her  two  girls  widout  loss  of  time,  in  regard  that  it's  hard  to  say 
how  a  step-father  an'  thim  might  agree;  and  I've  often  known 
the  mother  herself,  w'aen  she  had  a  fresh  family  comin'  an  her. 


38  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

to  be  as  unnatural  to  her  fatherless  children  as  if  she  was  a 
stranger  to  thim,  and  that  the  same  blood  didn't  run  in  their 
veins.  Not  saying  that  Mary  M'Coul  will  or  would  act  that 
way  by  her  own ;  for  indeed  she's  come  of  a  kind  ould  stock,  an' 
ought  to  have  a  good  heart.  Tell  her,  avick,  when  you  see  her, 
that  I'll  splnd  a  day  or  two  wid  her— let  me  see — the  day  after  to- 
morrow will  be  Palm  Sunday — wliy,  about  the  Aisther  holidays.  "- 

"Indeed  I  will.  Rose,  with  great  pleasure." 

"An'  whisper,  dear,  jist  tell  her  that  I've  a  thing  to  say 
to  her — that  I  had  a  long  dish  o'  discoorse  about  her  wid  a 
friend o^  mine.     You  won't  forget  now?" 

' '  Oh,  the  dickens  a  f  jrget ! ' ' 

"Thank  you,  dear;  God  mark  you  to  grace,  avourneen  ! 
When  you're  a  little  ouldher,  maybe  I'll  be  a  friend  to  you  yet." 

This  last  intimation  was  given  with  a  kind  of  mysterious 
benevolence,  very  visible  in  the  complacent  shrewdness  of  her 
face,  and  with  a  twinkle  in  the  eye,  full  of  grave  humor  and 
considerable  self-importance,  leaving  the  mind  of  the  person 
she  spoke  to  in  such  an  agreeable  uncertainty  as  rendered  it  a 
matter  of  great  difficulty  to  determine  whether  she  was  serious 
or  only  in  jest,  but  at  all  events  throwing  the  onus  of  inquiry  upon 
him. 

The  ease  and  tact  with  which  Rose  could  involve  two  young 
persons  of  opposite  sexes  in  a  mutual  attachment,  were  very 
remarkable.  In  truth,  she  was  a  kind  of  matrimonial  incen- 
diar}',  who  went  through  the  country  holding  her  torch  now  to 
this  heart  and  again  to  that— first  to  one  and  then  to  another, 
until  she  had  the  parish  more  or  less  in  a  flame.  And  when  we 
consider  the  combustible  materials  of  which  the  Irish  heart  is 
composed,  it  is  no  wonder  indeed  that  the  labor  of  taking  the 
census  in  Ireland  increases  at  such  a  rapid  rate.  If  Rose, 
for  instance,  met  a  young  woman  accidentally — and  it  was  won- 
derful to  think  how  regularly  tliese  accidental  meetings  took  place 
^she  would  address  her  probably  somewhat  as  follows: 

"Ana,  Biddy  Sullivan,  how  arc  you,  a-coUeen?" 

"  Faix,  bravely,  thank  you,  Rose.     How  is  yourself?" 


THE    MATCHMAKER.  39 

"Indeed,  thin,  sorra  bit  o'  the  health  we  can  complain  of, 
Bhried,  barrin'  whin  this  pain  in  the  back  comes  upon  us.  The 
last  time  I  seen  your  mother,  Biddy,  she  was  complainin'  of  a 
weid*     I  hope  she's betther,  poor  woman ?" 

"  Hut !  bad  scran  to  the  thing  ails  her  !  She  has  as  light  a 
foot  as  e'er  a  one  of  us,  an'  can  dance  'Jackson's  mornin'  brush' 
as  well  as  ever  she  could." 

"  Throth,  an'  I'm  proud  to  hear  it.  Och!  och!  'Jackson's 
mornin'  brush!'  and  it  was  she  that  could  do  it.  Sure  I  re- 
number her  wedding-day  like  yesterday.  Ay,  far  an'  near  her 
fame  wint  as  a  dancer;  an'  the  clanest-made  girl  that  ever  came 
from  Lisbuie.  Like  yestherday  do  I  remember  it,  an'  how  the 
squire  himself  and  the  ladies  from  the  Big  House  came  down  to 
see  herself  an'  your  father,  the  bride  and  groom — an'  it  wasn't 
on  every  hill  head  you'd  get  sich  a  couple — dancin'  the  same 
'Jackson's  mornin'  brush.'  Oh !  it  was  far  an'  her  fame  wint 
for  dancin'  that.  An'  is  there  no  news  wid  you,  Bhried,  at  all, 
at  all  ?" 

"  The  sorra  word.  Rose;  where  ui  I  get  news  ?  Sure  it's 
yourself  that's  always  on  the  fut  that  ought  to  have  the  news 
for  us.  Rose  alive." 

"  An'  maybe  I  have,  too.  I  was  spakin'  to  a  friend  o'  mine 
about  you  the  other  day." 

"A  friend  o'  yours.  Rose !  Why,  what  friend  could  it  be?" 

"  A  frie.id  o'  mine — ay,  an'  of  yours  too.  Maybe  you  have 
more  friends  than  you  think,  Biddy — and  kind  ones,  too,  as  far 
as  wishin'  you  well  goes,  'tany  rate.  Ay,  have  you,  faix,  an' 
friends  that  e'er  a  girl  in  the  parish  might  be  proud  to  hear 
named  in  the  one  day  wid  her.     Awouh !" 

"  Bedad  we're  in  luck,  thin,  for  that's  more  than  Iknow  of. 
An'  who  may  these  great  friends  of  ours  be.  Rose?" 

"  Awouh !  Faix,  as  dacent  a  boy  as  ever  broke  bread  the 
same  boy  is,  'And,'  says  he,  '  if  I  had  goold  in  bushelfuls,  I'd 
think  it  too  little  for  that  girl;'  but,  poor  lad,  he's  not  aisy  or 

*A  feverish  cold. 


40  THE   ZXJZnSVS   PAPERS. 

happy  in  his  mind  in  regard  o'  that.  'I'm  afeard,'  says  he, 
'that  she'd  put  scorn  upon  me,  an'  not  think  me  her  aiquals* 
An'  no  more  I  am,'  says  he  agaia,  'for  wliere,  afther  all,  would 
you  get  the  likes  of  Biddy  Sullivan!' — Poor  boy  1  throth,  my 
heart  aches  for  him !" 

"  Well,  can't  you.  fail  m  love  wid  him  yourself,  RoGe,  who- 
ever he  is?" 

"  Indeed,  an'  if  I  was  at  your  age,  it  would  be  no  shame  to 
me  to  do  so;  buit,  to  tell  you  the  tliiruUi,  the  sorra  often  ever  the 
likes  of  Paul  Hefferuan  came  across  me." 

"Paul  Hefeman  1  Why,  Rose,'*  replied  Biddy,  smiling  with 
the  assumed  hgbtness  of  indifference,  "  is  that  your  beauty  ?  If 
it  is,  why,  keep  him,  an'  make  much  of  him." 

"  Oh,  wurrah  1  the  differ  there  is  between  the  hearts  an' 
tongues  of  some  people — one  from  another — an'  the  way  they 
spaik  behind  others'  backs !  Weil,  well,  I'm  sure  that  wasn't 
the  way  he  spoke  of  you,  Biddy ;  an'  God  forgive  you  for  runnin* 
down  the  poor  boy  as  you're  doin'.  Trogs  !  I  believe  you're  the 
only  girl  would  do  iL" 

"  Who,  me  ?  I'm  not  numin'  him  down.  I'm  neither  runnin' 
him  up  nor  down.  I  have  neither  good  nor  bad  to  say  about 
him — the  boy's,  a  Hack  sthranger  to  me,  barrin'  to  know  his 
face." 

*'  Faix,  an^  he's  in  consate  wid  you  these  three  months  past, 
an'  intindstobe  at  the  dance  on  Friday  next,  in  Jack  Gormly's 
new  house.  Now,  good-bye,  alanna;  keep  your  own  counsel  till 
the  time  comes,  an'  mind  what  I  said  to  you.  It's  not  behind  every 
ditch  the  likes  of  Paul  Heffenian  grows.  Bcumaglit  Ihath  !  My 
blessin'  be  wid  you  !" 

Thus  ^«ould  Rose  tlepart  jast  at  the  critical  moment,  for  well 
she  knew  that  by  husbanding  her  information  and  leaving  the 
heart  sometliiiig  to  find  out,  she  took  tlic  most  effectual  steps  to 
excite  and  sustain  that  kind  of  interest  which  is  apt  ultimately 
to  ripen,  even  from  its  own  agitation,  into  the  attachment  she  is 
anxious  to  promote. 

The  next  day,  by  a  meeting  similarly  accidental,  she  cooses  in 


THE    MATCHMAKER.  41 

contact  with  Paul  Heffernan,  who,  honest  lad,  had  never  prob- 
ably bestowed  a  thought  upon  Biddy  Sullivan  in  his  life. 

'■'■  Morrow  ghu J,  Paiil ! — how  is  your  father's  son,  ahager  ?" 

*  Morrow  ghuleka.  Rose  !  —my  father's  son  waats  aothin'  but 
a  good  wife,  Rosha.' 

An'  it's  not  every  sat  day  or  ibonfire  -night  that  a  good  wife 
Is  to  be  had,  Paul — that  is,  a  good  one,  as  you  say;  for,  throth, 
there's  many  o'  them  in  the  market,  sich  .as  they  are.  I  was 
talkin'  about  you  to  a  friend  of  mine  the  other  day — an',  trogs, 
I'm  afear<i  you're  not  worth  all  .the  abuse  we  gave  you." 

**More  power  to  yoa.  Rose  !  I'm  oblaged  to  you.  But  who  is 
the  friend  in  the  mane  time  ?" 

"  Poor  girl !  Throth,  when  your  name  slipped  out  an  her,  the 
point  of  a  msh  would  take  a  drop  of  blood  out  o'  her  cheek,  the 
way  jslie  crimsoned  up.  'An',  Rose,'  ^ays  she,  *if ever  I  know 
you  to  breathe  it  to  man  or  mortual,  my  lips  I'll  never  open  to 
you  to  my  dyin'  day.'  Trogs,  whin  I  looked  at  her,  an'  the 
tears  staadhi'  in  lier  purty  black  eyes,  I  thought  I  didn't  see  a 
bettlier  favored  girl,  for  both  face  and  figure,  this  many  a  day, 
than  the  same  Biddy  Sullivan. ' ' 

"Biddy  Sullivan!     Is  that  long  Jack's  daughter  oTCargah?" 

"The  same.  But,  PaiiJ,  avick,  if  a  syllable  o'  what  J  tould 
you " 

"Hut,  Rose!  honor  hdghtJ  Do  you  thiak  me  a  stag^  that 
I'd  go  and  inform  on  you  ?" 

"Wliisper,  Paul;  slie'U  be  at  the  dance  on  Friday  next  in 
Jack  Gormly's  new  house.  So  baanaght  Ihath,  an'  think  o'  what 
I  betrayed  to  you." 

TTras  did  Rase  very  qaiedy  and  sagaciously  bind  two  yoimg 
hearts  together,  who  probably  might  otherwise  have  never  for  a 
moment  even  thought  of  each  other.  Of  course,  when  Paul  and 
Biddy  met  at  the  dance  on  the  following  Friday,  the  one  was  the 
object  of  the  closest  attention  to  the  other,  and  each  being  prepared 
to  witness  strong  proofs  of  attachment  from  the  opposite  party, 
everything  feU  out  exactly  according  to  their  expectations. 


42  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS, 


THE  GHOST. 


[No  one  was  more  deeply  versed  in  "old  folk  lore  "  than  the  gift- 
ed poet,  and  his  versatility  in  this  regard  was  only  equaled  by  the 
readiness  with  which  he  gratified  his  eager  audiences.  Fairy  leg- 
ends and  ghost  stories  formed  no  inconsiderable  portion  of  his 
vast  mental  treasures,  and  the  gravity  with  which  he  related  the 
latter  added  not  a  little  to  their  intrinsic  merit. 

The  story  which  we  here  present  to  our  readers  was  a  favor- 
ite one  with  the  poet,  who  solemnly  averred  (and  who  but  a 
churl  would  doubt  his  word  ?)  that  the  events  narrated  hap- 
pened to  a  particular  friend  of  his  own.  That  it  was  a  favorite 
with  his  hearers  also  is  evidenced  by  the  fact  that,  unlike  many 
erf  hrs  lucubrations  which  are  lost  to  us  forever,  it  was  saved  from 
such  an  untimely  and  deplorable  fate  by  Charles  Lever,  who,  like 
all  others  that  preyed  on  the  forgiving  poet,  appropriated  it  to 
hhnself,  and  put  it  in  the  mouth  of  Mickey  Free.  Not  content 
with  this,  the  novelist  gave  it  some  fresh  touches,  not,  we  think,  to 
itsimprovement.  We  prefer,  therefore,  to  give  it  as  nearly  as  possi- 
ble in  the  words  of  the  lamented  Zozimus,  and  without  further 
yreface  we  will  lay  it  before  our  readers.] 


"  Well,  I  believe  your  honor  heard  me  tell  long  ago  how  my 
father  left  the  army,  and  the  way  that  he  took  to  another  line  of 
life  that  was  more  to  his  liking.  And  so  it  was,  he  was  happy  as 
tile  day  was  long  ;  he  drove  a  hearse  for  Mr.  Callaghan  of  Cork 
for  many  years,  and  a  pleasant  place  it  was;  for  ye  see,  my  father 
was  a  cute  man  and  knew  something  of  the  world;  and  though 
he  was  a  droll  devil,  and  could  sing  a  funny  song  when  he  was 
among  us  boys,  no  sooner  had  he  the  big  black  cloak  on  him, 


THE   GHOST.  43^ 

and  the  weepers,  and  he  seated  on  the  high  box  with  the  six  long- 
tailed  blacks  before  him,  you'd  really  think  it  was  his  own  moth- 
er was  inside,  he  looked  so  melancholy  and  miserable.  The 
sexton  and  grave-digger  was  nothing  to  my  father;  and  he  had 
a  look  about  his  eye — to  be  sure  there  was  a  reason  for  it — that 
you'd  think  he  was  up  all  night  crying,  though  it's  little  indul- 
gence he  took  that  way. 

"Well,  of  all  Mr.  Callaghan's  men,  there  was  none  so  great 
a  favorite  as  my  father;  the  neighbors  were  all  fond  of  him. 

*'  'A  kind  crayture  every  inch  of  him,'  the  women  would  say. 
'Did  ye  see  his  face  at  Mrs.  Delany's  funeral?' 

"'True  for  you,'  another  would  remark;  'he  mistook  thg- 
road  with  grief,  and  stopped  at  a  shebeen-house  instead  of  Kil- 
murry  church.' 

"I  need  say  no  more,  only  one  thing,  that  it  was  principally 
among  the  farmers  and  the  country  people  my  father  was  lilced 
so  much.  The  great  people  and  the  quality — I  ax  your  pardon 
— but  sure  isn't  it  true.  Mister  Charles,  they  don't  fret  so  much 
after  their  fathers  and  brothers,  and  they  care  little  who's  driving 
thenn,  whether  it  was  a  decent,  respectable  man  like  my  father,  or 
a  chap  with  a  grin  on  him  like  a  rat-trap?  And  so  it  happened 
that  my  father  used  to  travel  half  the  county,  going  here  and 
there  wherever  there  was  trade  stirring;  and,  faix,  a  man  didn't 
think  himself  rightly  buried  if  my  father  wasn't  there;  for  ye  see 
he  knew  all  about  it;  he  could  tell  to  a  quart  of  sperits  what 
would  be  wanting  for  a  wake;  he  knew  all  the  good  cryers  for 
miles  around;  and  I've  heard  it  was  a  beautiful  sight  to  see  him 
standing  on  a  hill,  arranging  the  procession  as  they  walked  into 
the  c'nurch-yard  and  giving  the  word  like  a  captain. 

"  'Come  on,  the  stiff — now  the  friends  of  tlie  stiff— now  the 
pop'lace.' 

"■That's  what  he  used  to  say;  and,  troth,  he  was  always  re- 
peating it  when  he  was  a  little  gone  in  drink — for  that's  the  time 
his  spirits  would  rise — and  he'd  think  he  was  burying  half  Mun- 
ster. 

"  And  sure  it  was  a  real  pleasure  and  a  pride  to  be  buried  in 


44  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

them  times;  for  av  it  was  only  a  small  farmer  with  a  pwtato  gar- 
den, my  father  would  come  down  with  the  black  cloak  on  him, 
and  three  yards  of  crape  behind  his  hat,  and  set  all  the  children 

■  crying  and  yelling  for  half  a  mile  round;  and  then  the  way  he'd 
walk  Ixfore  them  with  a  spade  on  his  shoulder,  and  sticking  it 

■  down  in  the  ground,  clap  his  hat  on  the  top  of  it  to  make  it 
look  like  a  chief  mourner.     It  was  a  beautiful  sight." 

"But,  Milce,  if  you  indulge  much  longer  in  this  flattering 
recollection  of  your  father,  I'm  afraid  we  shall  lose  sight  of  the 
ghost  entirely." 

"  No  fear  in  life,  your  honor,  I'm  coming  to  him  now.     Well, 

it  was  this  way  it  happened: — In  the  winter  of  the  great  frost, 

about  forty-two  or  forty-three  years  ago,  the  priest  of  Tullough- 

muray  took  ill  and  died;  he  was  sixty  years  priest  of  the  parish, 

;  and  mightily  beloved  by  all  the  people,  and  good  reason  for  it;  a 

pleasanter  man  and  a  more  social  crayture  never  lived — 'twas 

himself  was  the  life  of  the  whole  country-side.     A  wedding  nor 

.  a  christening  wasn't  lucky  av  he  wasn't  there,  sitting  at  the  top 

.  of  the  table,  with  as  much  kindness  in  his  eye  as  would  make 

;  the   fortunes  of  twenty  hypocrites  if  they  had  it  among  them. 

And  then  he  was  so  good  lo  the  poor;  the  Priory  was  always  full 

of  ould  men  and  ould  women,  sitting  around  the  big  fire  in  the 

kitchen,  so  that  the  cook  could  hardly  get  near  it.     There  ihey 

were  eating  their  meals  and  burning  their  shins,  till  they  were 

speckled  like  a  trout's  back,  and  grumbling  all  the   time;  but 

Father  Dwyer  liked  ihem,  and  he  would  have  them. 

"'Where  have  they  to  go,' he'd  say,  'av  it  wasn't  to  me? 
Give  Molly  Kinshela  a  lock  of  that  bacon.  Tim,  it's  a  cowld 
morning.' 

"Ah,  that's  the  way  he'd  spake  to  them;  but  sure  goodness  is 
no  warrant  for  living,  any  more  than  devilment;  and  so  he  got 
cowld  in  his  feet  at  a  station,  and  he  rode  liome  in  the  heavy  snow 
without  his  big  coat — for  he  gave  it  away  to  a  blind  man  on  the 
road — and  in  three  days  he  was  dead. 

"I  see  you're  getting  impatient;  so  I'll  not  stop  to  say  what 
grief  was  in   the  parish  when  it  was  known;    but  troth  there 


THE    GHOST. 


45 


never  was  seen  the  like  before ;  not  a  craytuie  would  lift  a  spade 
for  two  days,  and  there  was  more  whisky  sold  in  that  time  than 
at  the  whole  spring  fair.  Well,  on  the  third  day  the  funeral  set 
out,  and  never  was  the  equal  of  it  in  them  parts:  first,  there  was 
my  father;  he  came  special  from  Cork  with  the  six  horses  all 
in  new  black,  and  plumes  like  little  poplar  trees;  then  came 
Father  Dwyer,  followed  by  the  two  coadjutors  in  beautiful  sur- 
plices, walking  bare-headed,  with  the  little  boys  of  the  Priory 
school,  two  and  two." 

"Well,  Mike,  I'm  sure  it  was  very  fine;  but  for  heaven's  sake 
spare  me  all  these  descriptions,  and  get  on  to  the  ghost." 

"Faith,  your  honor's  in  a  great  hurry  for  the  ghost;  mayl^e 
you  won't  like  him  when  ye  have  him,  but  I'll  go  faster  if  you 
please.  Well,  Father  Dwyer,  ye  see,  was  born  at  Aghan-lish,  of 
an  ould  family,  and  he  left  it  in  his  will  that  he  was  to  be  buried 
in  the  family  vault;  and,  as  Aghan-lish  was  eighteen  mi'es  up 
the  mountains,  it  was  getting  late  when  they  drew  near.  By 
tliat  time  the  great  procession  was  all  broke  up  and  gone  home. 
The  mourners  stopped  to  dine  at  the  '  Blue  Bellows '  at  the 
cross-roads;  the  little  boys  took  to  pelting  snow-balls;  there  was 
a  fight  or  two  on  the  way  besides  ;  and  in  fact,  except  an  ould 
deaf  fellow  that  my  father  took  to  mind  the  horses,  he  was  quite 
alone.  Not  that  he  minded  that  same;  for  when  the  crowd  was 
gone  my  father  began  to  sing  a  droll  song,  and  tould  the  deaf 
chap  that  it  was  a  lamentation.  At  last  they  came  in  sight  of 
Aghan-lish.  It  was  a  lonesome,  melancholy-looking  place,  with 
nothing  near  it  except  two  or  three  ould  fir-trees,  and  a  small 
slated  house  with  one  window,  where  the  sexton  lived,  and  even 
that  same  was  shut  up,  and  a  padlock  on  the  door.  Well,  my 
father  was  not  over-much  pleased  at  the  look  of  matters;  but,  as 
he  v/as  never  hard  put  to  know  what  to  do,  he  managed  to  get  the 
coffin  into  the  vestry;  and  then,  when  he  unharnessed  the  horses, 
he  went  to  an  ould  disolate  and  desarted  house  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, where  he  prepared  to  make  himself  comfortable  for  the 
night;  and  then  he  made  a  roaring  fire  on  the  ould  hearth — for 
there  was  plenty  of  bog  fir  there — closed  the  windows  with  the 


46  THE    ZOZIMl'S    PAPERS. 

Mack  cloaks,  and  wrapping  two  round  himself,  he  sat  down  to 
cook  a  little  supper  he  brought  with  him  in  case  of  need. 

"  Well,  you  may  think  it  was   melancholy  enough  to  pass  the 
night  up  there  alone,  with  the  wind  howling  about  on  every  side, 
and  the  snow-drift   beating  against  the  walls;  but,  as  the  fire 
burned  brightly,  and  the  little  plate  of  rashers  and  eggs  smoked 
temptingly  before  him,  my  father  mixed  a  jug  of  the  strongest 
punch,  and  sat  down  as  happy  as  a  king.     As  long  as  he  was 
eating  away,  he  had  no  time  to  be  thinking  of  anything  else; 
but  when  all  was  done  and  he  looked  about  him,  he  began  to 
fcel  very  low    and  melancholy   in    his  heart.      There   was  the 
mourning  cloaks  ihat  he  had  stuck  up  against  the  windows  mov- 
ing backward  and  forward  like  living  things;  and,  outside,  the 
wikicry  of  the  plover  as  he  flew  past,   and   the  night-owl  sitting 
in  a  nook  of  the  old  house.     '  I  wish  it  was  morning,  anyhow,' 
said  my  father,  'for  this  is  a  lonesome  place  to  be  in;  and,  fabc, 
he'll  Ije  a  cunning  fellow  that  catches  me  passing  the  night  this 
way  again.'     Now  there  was  one  thing  distressed  him  most  of 
all:  my  father  used  always  to  make  fun  of  the  ghosts  and  sperits 
the  neighbors  would  tell  of,  pretending  there  was  no  such  thing; 
and  now  the  thought  came  to  him,  '  Maybe  they'll  revenge  them- 
selves on  me  to-night,  when  they  have  me  up  here  alone;'  and 
with  that  he  made  another  jug  stronger  than  tlie  first,  and  tried 
to  i-c;T',ember  a  few  prayers  in  case  of  need;   but  somehow  his 
mind  was  not  too  clear,   and  he  said  afterwards  he  was  always 
mixing  up  old  songs  and  toasts  with  the  prayers,  and  when  he 
though!  he  had  just  got  hold  of  a  beautiful  psalm,  it  would  turn 
out  to  be  '  Tatter  Jack  Walsh,'  or   'Limping  James,'  or  some- 
thing like  that.    The  storm,  meanwhile,  was  rising  every  moment, 
and  parts  of  the  old  house  were  falling,  as  the  wind  shook  the 
ruin;  and  my  father's  sperits,   notwithstanding   the  punch,  were 
lower  than  ever. 

"  '  I  made  it  too  weak,'  said  he,  as  he  set  to  work  on  a  new 
jorum;  and  troth  this  time  that  was  not  the  fault  of  it,  for  the 
first  Slip  nearly  choked  him. 


THE    GHOST.  47 

"'Ah!'  said  he  now,  'I  knew  what  it  was;  this  is  like  the 
thing;  and,  Mr.  Free,  yoa  are  beginning  to  feel  easy  and  com- 
fortablc;  pass  the  jug;  your  very  good  health  and  song.  I'm  a 
little  hoarse,  it's  true,  but  if  the  company  will  excuse—' 

"And  then  he  began  knocking  on  an  ould  table  with  his 
knuckles,  as  if  there  was  a  room  full  of  people  asking  him  to 
singl  In  short,  my  father  was  drunk  as  a  fiddler;  the  last  brew 
finished  him,  and  he  began  roaring  away  all  kinds  of  droll  songs, 
and  telling  all  manner  of  stories,  as  if  he  was  at  a  great  party. 

"While  he  was  capering  this  way  about  the  room,  he  knocked 
down  his  hat,  and  with  it  a  pack  of  cards  he  put  into  it  before 
leavmg  home,  for  he  was  mighty  fond  of  a  game. 

"'Will  ye  take  a  hand,  Mr.  Free?'  said  he,  as  he  gathered 
them  up  and  sat  down  beside  the  fire. 

"  'I'm  convanient,'  said  he,  and  began  dealing  out  as  if  there 
was  a  partner  fominst  him. 

"When  my  father  used  to  get  this  far  in  the  story,  he  became 
very  confused.  He  says  that  once  or  twice  he  mistook  the  liquor 
and  took  a  pull  at  the  bottle  of  potteen  instead  of  the  punch;  and 
soon  after  that  he  slipped  down  on  the  ground  and  fell  fast 
asleep.  How  long  he  lay  that  way  he  could  never  tell.  When 
he  awoke  and  looked  up,  his  hair  nearly  stood  on  end  with  fnght. 
\Vhat  do  you  think  he  seen  fominst  him,  sitting  at  the  other  side 
of  the  fire,  but  a  real  ghost;  there  he  was,  devil  a  lie  in  it,  wrap- 
ped up  in  one  of  the  mourning  cloaks,  trying  to  warm  his  hands 

at  the  fire. 

"  '  S.ilve  hoc  ■fwmine  patri  r  said  my  father,  crossing  himself; 
'  av  you're  a  gliost,  God  presarve  me  !' 

"'Good  evening  t'ye,  Mr.  Free,'  said  the  ghost;  'andavl 
might  be  bould,  what's  in  the  jugP'-for  ye  see  me  father  had  it 
under  his  arm  fast,  and  never  let  it  go  when  he  was  asleep. 

"'Potteen,  sir,'  said  my  father,  for  the  ghost  didn't  look 
pleased  at  his  talking  Latin. 

"  '  Ye  might  have  the  politeness  to  ax  if  one  had  a  mouth  on 
him,'  then  says  the  ghost. 


48  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

"  •  Sure,  I  didn't  think  the  like  of  you  would  taste  sperits.* 

•'  'Try  me,'  said  the  ghost;  and  with  that  he  filled  out  a  glass 
and  tossed  it  off  like  a  Christian. 

•'  '  Beamish  !'  says  the  ghost,  smacking  his  lips. 

'*'The  same,'  says  my  father;  'and  sure  what's  happened 
you  has  not  spoilt  your  taste.' 

"  '  If  you'd  mix  a  little  hot,'  says  the  ghost,  '  I'm  thinking  it 
would  be  better;  the  night  is  mighty  sevare.' 

' '  ♦  Anything  that  your  honor  pleases, '  says  my  father,  as  he 
Tjegan  to  blow  up  a  good  fire  to  boil  the  water. 

"  '  And  what  news  is  stirring  ?'  says  the  ghost. 

"'Not  a  word,  your  honor;  times  is  bad;  except  the  measles, 
there's  nothing  in  our  parts.' 

"  'And  we're  quite  dead  hereabouts,  too,'  says  the  ghost. 

"  'There's  some  of  us  so,  anyhow,'  says  my  father,  with  a  sly 
look.     'Taste  that,  your  honor.' 

"' Pleasant  and  refreshing, '  says  the  ghost;  'and  now,  Mr. 
Free,  what  do  you  say  to  a  little  spoil  five,  or  beggar  my  neigh- 
bor?' 

"  'What  will  we  play  for?'  says  my  father;  for  a  thought  just 
struck  him — '  maybe  it's  some  trick  of  the  devil  to  catch  my 
soul.' 

"  '  A  pint  of  Beamish,'  says  the  ghost. 

"  '  Done,'  says  my  father;  'cut  for  deal;  the  ace  of  cIuIjs;  you 
have  it.' 

"Now  the  whole  time  the  ghost  was  dealing  the  cards  my 
father  never  took  his  eyes  off  of  him,  for  he  wasn't  quite  aisy  in 
his  mind  at  al!;  but  when  he  saw  him  turn  up  the  trump  and  take 
a  strong  drink  afterwards,  he  got  more  at  ease,  and  l)egan  the 
game. 

"How  long  they  played  it  was  never  rightly  known;  but  one 
fhing  is  sure,  tliey  drank  a  cruel  deal  of  spirits;  three  (juart 
bottles  my  father  brought  with  him  were  all  finished,  and  by  that 
time  his  brain  was  so  confused  with  the  liquor,  and  all  he  lost-  - 
for  somehow  he  never  won  a  game— that  he  was  getting  very 
quarrelsome. 


THE   GHOST.  49 

"  'You  have  your  own  luck  of  it,'  says  he,  at  last. 

♦'•True  for  you;  and,  besides,  we  play  a  great  deal  where  I 
come  from.' 

"'I've  heard  so,'  says  my  father.  'I  lead  the  knave,  sir, 
spades;  bad  cess  to  it,  lost  again.' 

"  Now  it  was  really  very  distressing;  for  by  this  time,  though 
they  only  began  for  a  pint  of  Beamish,  ray  father  went  on  bet- 
ting till  he  lost  the  hearse  and  all  the  six  horses,  mourning  cloaks, 
plumes  and  everything. 

"  '  Are  you  tired,  Mr.  Free  ?  maybe  you'd  like  to  stop  ?' 

" '  Stop  !  faith  it's  a  nice  time  to  stop;  of  course  not.' 

"  '  Well,  what  will  ye  play  for  now  ?' 

"The  way  he  said  these  words  brought  a  trembling  all  over 
my  father,  and  his  blood  curdled  in  his  heart.  'Oh,  murther!' 
says  he  to  himself,  '  it's  my  sowl  he  is  wanting  all  the  time.' 

'"I've  mighty  little  left,'  says  my  father,  looking  at  him 
keenly,  while  he  kept  shuffling  the  cards  quick  as  lightning. 

"'Mighty  little;  no  matter,  we'll  give  you  plenty  of  time  to 
pay,  and  if  you  can't  do  it,  it  shall  never  trouble  you  as  long  as 
you  live.' 

"  '  Oh,  you  murthering  devil !'  says  my  father,  flying  at  him 
with  a  spade  that  he  had  behind  his  chair,    '  I've  found  you  out.' 

"With  one  blow  he  knocked  him  down;  and  now  a  terrible 
fight  began,  for  the  ghost  was  very  strong  too;  but  my  father's 
blood  was  up,  and  he'd  have  faced  the  devil  himself  then.  They 
rolled  over  each  otlicr  several  times,  the  broken  bottles  cutting 
them  to  pieces  and  the  chairs  and  tables  crashing  under  them. 
At  last  the  ghost  took  the  bottle  that  lay  on  the  hearth,  and 
leveled  my  father  to  the  ground  with  one  blow ;  down  he  fell, 
and  the  bottle  and  the  whisky  were  both  dashed  into  tlie  fire; 
that  was  the  end  of  it,  for  the  ghost  disappeared  that  moment  in 
a  blue  flame  that  nearly  set  fire  to  my  father  as  he  lay  on  the 
floor. 

"  Och !  it  was  a  cruel  sight  to  see  him  next  morning,  with  his 
cheek  cut  open,  and  his  hands  all  bloody,  lying  there  by  himself; 


50  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

all  the  broken  glass  and  the  cards  all  round  him.  My  father 
couldn't  speak  a  word  for  days  afther,  and  as  for  the  sexton,  it 
was  a  queer  thing,  but  when  they  came  to  call  him  in  the  morn- 
ing, he  had  two  black  eyes,  and  a  gash  over  his  ear,  and  he 
never  knew  how  he  got  them.  It  was  easy  enough  to  know  the 
ghost  did  it;  but  my  father  kept  the  secret,  and  never  told  it  to 
any  man,  woman  or  child  in  them  parts." 


AN   IRISH    "PIC-NIC."  ,51 


AN  IRISH  "  PIC-NIC." 


Of  all  the  pleasant  interludes  in  the  drama  of  life,  a  sod  party, 
where  everything  goes  right,  is  one  of  the  pleasantest.  What 
talking !  what  fuss  !  what  discussions  !  what  direfully  important 
arrangements  for  a  week  beforehand  !  what  a  puzzle  how  to  di- 
vide the  various  necessaries  into  such  relatively  fair  proportions 
that  no  individual  should  feel  more  burdened  than  another.  I 
do  not  mean  one  of  those  parties  where  all  the  trouble  and  ex- 
pense fall  upon  one  unfortunate  individual,  who,  consequently, 
can  derive  no  pleasure  from  the  arfair,  except  that  of  seeing 
others  enjoying  themselves — a  very  great  pleasure,  doubtless, 
considered  abstractly,  but  rather  too  refined  for  every-day  mor- 
tals— no;  but  a  regular  pic-nic,  where  lots  are  drawn,  and  each 
supplies  whatever  may  be  written  on  the  slip  that  she  or  he  holds, 
and  fumiilies  a  quota  of  the  trouble,  as  well  as  of  the  provisions; 
one  bidividual,  nevertheless,  being  the  director. 

What  a  hurry -skurry  on  the  morning  of  the  eventful  day  ! 
Then  the  assembling  of  the  carriages  and  other  vehicles  at  the 
place  of  rendezvous. 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Mrs.  Harvey,  on  the  morning  of  the  day  ap- 
pointed for  her  pic-nic,  having  consulted  her  watch  for  the  twen- 
tieth time;  "dear  me,  where  is  Mr.  Sharpe?  What  can  possibly 
dfijay  Mrs.  Molloy  ?  Well,  well,  how  hard  it  is  to  get  people  to 
kS  punctual!" 

"Oh,  mamma,  maybe  they'll  meet  us  at  Howth;  we  had  bet- 
ter set  off.  If  they  come  here,  they  can  be  directed  to  follow  us, 
you  know.     Do,  pray,  mamma,  let  us  move. 

•'Oh,  my  dear,  we  must  send  a  messenger  to  Mr.  Sharpe.     K 


5»  THE   ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

he  missed  us,  or  took  Imfi'  at  our  going  without  him  (and  you 
know  he's  very  tetchy),  it  would  be  such  a  dreadful  inconvenience, 
for  he  has  to  supply  the  knives  and  forks,  spoons  and  glasses,  and 
he  would  think  nothing  of  leaving  us  in  the  lurch,  if  he  took  it 
hito  his  head;  and  Mrs.  MoUoy  is  so  forgetful,  that  she  might 
come  without  the  roast  beef,  and  never  think  of  it  until  it  would 
be  missed  at  table.  George,  dear,  will  you  step  over  to  Mr. 
Sharpe's,  and  tell  him  that  the  company  is  assembled  ?  And,  Mr. 
O'Brien,  will  you  permii  me  to  send  your  servant  to  Mrs.  MoUoy 
with  a  similar  message  ?" 

"Certainly,  madam,  with  the  greatest  pleasure." 

And  now  the  little  amioyances  inseparable  from  all  sublunary 
enjoyments  begin. 

"John  has  received  a  severe  hurt,  my  dear.  In  packing  some 
bottles,  one  of  them  broke,  and  a  piece  of  it  has  cut  his  wrist.  I 
have  sent  liim  to  the  apothecary's  to  get  it  dressed." 

"  Mercy  on  us !  I  hope  he's  not  seriously  injured-  He  won't 
be  obliged  to  stay  at  home,  surely  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  he  must,  my  dear." 

"  If  he  does,  everything  will  go  wrong,  he  is  such  a  careful 
creature,  and  so  completely  up  to  everything  on  a  sod  party,  and 
has  evei-ything  so  orderly  and  regular,  and  all  without  fuss  or 
hurry.     Oh,  dear  !  we  shall  be  sadly  off  without  liim." 

Mr.  Sharpe  was  announced,  and  a  slight,  small,  flapjier  little 
personage  made  his  appearaace-  A  physiognomist  of  the  very 
least  discernment  must  at  once  have  pronounced  liim  to  Ije  a 
satirical,  irritable,  genuine  lover  of  mischief,  for  miscliiePssake — 
mirthfvl  after  his  own  fashion,  and  as  merry  a-^  a  grig  upon  a 
gridiron,  when  every  face  about  him  should  be  drawn  to  a  lialf 
yard  in  length  by  some  unforeseen  annoyance,  or  petty  disaster. 
He  nibbed  his  kaads,  congratulating  the  ladies  on  the  fineness  of 
the  day.  "  Heavenly  day — fine  road — 15ay  of  Dublin  will  be 
seen  to  such  advantage-  :;ea  so  smooth — coast  of  Wicklow  splen- 
did— Killiney  will  look  so  bold  J" — talk— talk — talk  ;  he  stunned 
every  pereon  with  his  extraordinary  volubility. 

Mr.  O'Brien's  servant  entered.     "  Please,  ma'am,  Mrs.  Molloy 


AN    IRISH     "  PIC-NIC.  53 

is  coming."  Scarcely  was  the  message  delivered  when  the  lady 
made  her  appearance. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Mrs.  Harvey,  I  hope  I  haven't  kept  you  waiting 
long.  I  totally  forgot  that  this  was  the  day  appcrinted  for  your 
party,  until  Sparks  reminded  me  of  it  by  calling  me  np." 

"  Make  no  apologies,  my  dear  madam  :  we  haven't  waited  at 
all.  Mr.  Sharpe  has  but  just  arrived,  and  our  number  is  now 
complete.     Have  yon  everything  packed  ?" 

"  Packed  !  Why,  do  you  think  we'll  have  rain  ? — had  I  better 
get  my  cloak  and  umbrella  ?  But,  sure,  I  can  go  in  your  car- 
riage, and  as  I  shan't  be  ex|x>sed  on  an  outside  car,  1  won't  want 
them." 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Molloy,  it  is  the  l^eef  I  allude  to.  Is  it 
packed?" 

"  The  beef!     What  beef?" 

"Why,  dear  me,  you  surely  haven't  forgotten  that  a  .six-rib 
piece  of  roast  beef  was  to  be  supplied  by  yon  ?' 

"  I — declare — I — never — once — thought  of  it.  Well,  now, 
that's  odd." 

Mr.  Sharpe's  countenance  fell.  Tlie  discovery  had  been  made 
too  timely  io  please  him. 

"  What's  best  to  be  done  now?  lean  purchase  Ijcef  some- 
where as  we  go  along,  and  we'll  get  it  dressed  at  Howth,  in  some 
cabin  or  another." 

"  Phwee — oo,"  whistled  Mr.  Robert  O'Gorman  ;  "what  the 
deuce  would  we  do  with  ourselves  for  five  or  six  hours,  at  the 
least,  that  such  a  piece  would  take  to  roast,  wtlKiut  anything  to 
keep  its  back  warm  in  an  open  cabin?  I'il  tell  you  what, 
ma'am  ;  give  me  the  money,  and  I'll  get  as-  much  cold  roast 
beef  as  you  like,  fi-om  Mislholland." 

"Who  is  Mulholland  ?" 

"  Oh,  'tis  no  matter  ;  I'll  get  tl>e  meat,  if  you  want  it." 

"  Very  well,  Mr.  O'Gorman,  do  so,  and  you'll  oblige  me  ; 
here  is  a  guinea.     But  why  not  tell  who  Mulholland  is?" 

Mr.  O'Gorman  bolted,  without  making  any  reply. 

Now,  the  fact  of  the  matter  was  simply  this,  that  Mulholland 


54  THE    ZOZtMUS    PAPERS. 

was  a  sort  of  second-hand  caterer,  who  purchased  the  meat  that 
was  sent  unused  fro .11  the  dining  hall  of  Trinity  College,  and  sup- 
plied it  again  to  such  students  as  felt  too  economically  inclined 
to  attend  commons,  and  thus  save  money  from  the  parental  al- 
lowances, for  other,  and  better  (?)  uses.  To  this  class  did  Mr. 
O'Gorman  sometimes  belong. 

In  a  very  short  time  he  re-appeared. 

"  You  were  not  long,  Mr.  O'Gorman  ;  did  you  succeed  in  get- 
ting a  suitable  piece  ?" 

"  Suitable  ?  If  sixteen  pounds  will  suit  you,  I  have  got  that ; 
and  I  gave  him  the  change  of  the  guinea,"  addressing  Mrs.  Mal- 
loy,  "for  himself,  ma'am,  for  his  trouble  in  packing  it,  and  the 
loan  of  the  basket,  which,  of  course,  he  can't  expect  in  reason 
ever  to  see  again.     Nobody  would  bring  home  an  empty  basket." 

"  The  change  of  the  guinea  for  himself!  Why,  Mr.  O'Co"-- 
man,  instead  of  giving  him  more  than  he  asked,  you  should  have 
cut  him  down  in  his  price.  The  change  of  the  guinea  for  him- 
self! Oh,  gracious!  did  any  one  ever  hear  of  the  like  !  Oh, 
dear  me!  the  change  for  himself!  Oh,  dear!"  and  in  a  gentle 
repetition  or  two,  in  an  under-toue,  Mrs.  MoUoy's  surprise  died 
away,  like  a  retiring  echo;  for  the  bustle  of  departure  claimed 
all  attention  now. 

It  lias  lieeii  but  too  frequently  remarked,  that  a  party  of  plea- 
sure is  seldom  wholly  unembittered  by  pain,  and  our  party  was 
doomed  not  to  be  an  exception  to  the  rule  ;  although  the  point 
had  been  mooted,  and  the  question  discussed,  at  the  first  meeting 
(an  evening  party  at  Mrs.  Harvey's),  where  the  preliminaries 
were  arranged,  and  it  had  been  voted  unanimously  that  our  party 
should  be  pleasant,  and  agreeable,  and  happy,  from  the  start  to 
the  return  ;  and  further,  that  nothing  should  go  astray  ;  and 
that  if  any  person  should  lie  disagreeable,  he  or  she  should  be 
voted  out  ;  with  fifty  other  resolutions,  that  the  secretary  was 
unable  to  record,  in  consequence  of  the  movers  and  seconders, 
the  president  and  audience,  secretary  and  all,  talking  rapidly 
and  vehemently  together,  until  order  was  suddenly  restored  by 
Mr.   O'Gorman  (who  had  the  loudest  voice,  and  the  knack  of 


AN    IRISH    "  PIC-NIC.  55 

making  himself  heard  alxjve  any  uproar,  acquired  by  a  long  and 
regular  course  of  practice  in  the  upper  gallery  of  Crow  Street 
theatre)  shouting  out,  "  Order-r-r-r-r,  ladies  and  gentlemen, 
order-r-r-r-r  !  The  rule  of  this  society  is,  that  not  more  than  six 
shall  speak  at  a  time :  and  I  feel  it  to  be  my  duty,  madam,  to 
call  upon  you,  for  the  sake  of  regularity,  to  preserve  this  rule  in- 
Tiolate.  This  party  of  pleasure,  madam,  is  to  be  a  party  of 
pleasure  unlike  all  the  parties  of  pleasure  that  have  gone  beiire 
it.  Pleasure,  madam,  is  to  be  the  beginning,  pleasure  the  nf  d- 
dle,  and  pleasure  the  end  of  it ;  and  I  shall  coaclude,  madam, 
by  saying  that  I  have  the  pleasure  of  wishing  that  it  may  be  so." 

Mr.  O'Gorman  unfortunately  had  not  the  celebrated  wishing- 
cap  on  his  head  at  the  lime. 

Mr.,  Mrs.,  and  Miss  Harvey,  a  maiden  sister  of  Mr.  Harvey, 
Mrs.  Molloy,  Mr.  Sharpe,  Mr.  O'Brien,  his  mother  and  three 
sisters,  Mr.  O'Donnell  and  his  daughter,  O'Gorman,  Fitzgerald, 
Sweeny,  Costello,  and  two  or  three  more  college  men,  completed 
the  muster  roll  of  the  party.  The  vehicles  consisted  of  Mr. 
Harvey's  and  Mr.  O'Brien's  carriages,  Mr.  O'Donnell's  jaunting- 
car,  an  outside  jarvey  that  O'Gorman  had  brought,  and  Mr. 
Sharpc's  gig. 

Poor  John's  wrist  had  been  so  sadly  hurt  that  he  could  not 
attend,  and  the  gentlemen  gave  every  assurance  to  Mrs.  Harvey 
that  he  would  not  be  missed  by  her,  they  would  make  themselves 
so  useful. 

Everything  was  at  length  announced  to  be  ready.  A  basket, 
covered  with  oiled  silk,  swinging  conspicuously  from  the  axle- 
tree  of  the  gig,  rendered  it  unnecessary  to  ask  Mr.  Sharpe  if  he 
had  all  the  requisites  prepared  ;  and  Mrs.  Harvey,  having  cast 
the  last  scrutinizing  glance  around,  gave  the  long-wished-for 
word  to  ' '  take  places. ' ' 

Now,  all  this  time  there  were  four  hearts  bent  upon  one  ob- 
ject, and  four  heads  at  work  planning  how  tj  attain  it.  The 
youngest  of  the  Misses  O'Brien  was  the  sprightliest  girl  of  the 
party  ;  and  although  Miss  O'Donnell  might  dispute  the  prize  for 
beauty  with  her,  the  former  was  the  most  admired  by  the  young 


56  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

men  upon  the  present  occasion,  and  Messrs.  O'Gorman,  Fitzgerald, 
Sweeny,  and  Costello,  had  each  resolved  to  attach  himself  to  her, 
if  possible. 

The  first-mentioned,  who  was  a  general  favorite,  had  con- 
trived most  successfully  to  keep  near  her  during  breakfast,  and 
pretty  nearly  to  engross  her  attention  during  the  subsequent  time 
that  had  elapsed  previously  to  the  discovery  of  Mrs.  MoUoy's 
forgetfulness,  by  telling  her  tales  of  college  life,  and  adventures 
replete  with  wonders,  that  might  have  caused  the  renowned  Sin- 
bad  the  sailor  himself,  or  the  equally  celebrated  Baron  Mun- 
chausen, to  stare,  and  bite  the  bitter  nail  of  envy,  while  they 
could  not  withhold  their  meed  of  applause  from  one  who  was 
their  master  at  the  mar\'elous,  and  could  give  them  lessons  in 
the  sublime  art  of  invention. 

It  was  Bob's  an.xiety  to  get  on  the  road  that  made  him  tender 
his  service,  in  the  supplying  of  the  beef  ;  and  the  certainty  that 
he  had  completely  ingratiated  himself  with  the  young  lady,  by 
his  stories,  at  which  she  had  laughed  most  heartily,  made  him 
feel  very  little  uneasiness  at  the  prospect  of  a  few  minutes'  sepa- 
ration, especially  when  she  knew  that  he  had  only  absented  him- 
self for  the  purpose  of  expediting  the  arrangements  that  were 
to  give  him  an  opportunity  of  catering  for  her  amusement  for 
the  remainder  of  the  day.  When  he  returned  and  saw  her  sur- 
rounded by  the  other  three,  he  resolved  to  let  them  go  on  quietly, 
and  trusted  to  snatch  her  from  them  by  some  stratagem,  just  at 
the  last  moment. 

Now,  it  must  \)e  confessed  that  Miss  Kate  would  have  much 
preferred  the  rattling,  noisy,  lying,  merry,  mischievous  scamp, 
as  her  companion,  to  any  other,  because  she  loved  laughing,  and 
he  supplied  her  plentifully  with  food  for  mirth  ;  and  she  was  very 
well  inclined,  and  quite  resolved  within  herself,  to  second  any 
bold  attempt  that  he  might  make  to  rescue  her  from  the  trio  by 
which  she  was  surrounded.  Great  was  her  chagrin  to  see  that  he 
took  no  manner  of  trouble  about  the  matter,  but  apparently  oc- 
cupied himself  with  the  elder  Miss  Harvey.  What  a  taste  he 
must  have  !  thought  she,  to  attach  himself  to  the  old  maid  of  the 


AN    IRISH     "  PIC-NIC.  57 

party  ;  and  it  was  v/ith  something  of  pe'ti^hness  that  she  stood, 
or  rather  jumped  up,  when  the  order  to  move  was  given.  Her 
glove  fell.  Fitz;^erald  and  Costello  stooped,  or  rather  dashed 
themselves  down  from  opposite  sides  at  the  same  instant  to  se- 
cure the  prize  ;  their  heads  came  in  contact,  with  a  crash  re.sem- 
bling  that  caused  by  two  cracked  pitchers  being  jolted  together, 
and  so  loud  as  to  astonish  the  hearers  ;  and  they  recoiled  from 
the  collision  into  a  sitting  posture,  one  under  the  table,  and  the 
other  under  the  piano. 

When  Xantippe,  the  wife  of  that  great  philosopher  Socrates, 
had  failed  in  her  efforts  to  vex  him  by  abuse,  her  last  resource 
was  to  break  some  article  of  crockery  upon  his  head  :  it  is  re- 
corded that  he  coolly  wiped  his  face,  which  had  been  deluged  by 
the  contents,  merely  saying,  "After  thunder  comes  rain."  Now, 
I'd  be  bound  that  if  we  could  ascertain  what  Socrates  said  to 
himself  at  the  time,  we  should  find  that  for  ail  his  smooth  face 
and  soft  words  he  inwardly  took  some  desperate  liberties  with 
the  heathen  deities,  aud  pitched  Xantippe,  crockery,  and  all  the 
makers  of  it,  to  Pluto,  and  all  the  infernal  gods,  in  a  hurry. 
However,  he  kept  his  countenance,  which  is  more  than  can  be 
said  of  Frank  Costello,  or  Dick  Fitzgerald,  or  of  Mr.  Sharpe, 
who  nearly  went  into  convulsions  with  laughter  ;  indeed,  to  do 
him  justice,  his  was  not  the  only  laughter,  for  no  one  could  resist 
the  excitement  to  risibility  contained  in  the  picture  before  them. 
At  the  first  moment  each  of  the  gentlemen  had  uttered  a  loud 
exclamation  savoring  strongly  of  impiety  ;  then,  immediately 
recollecting  the  presence  of  ladies,  they  muttered  what  might 
have  been  supposed  by  the  charitable  to  be  half-suppressed  prayers, 
but  that  their  countenances  were  strangely  discordant  with 
pious  thoughts,  for  each  with  his  hand  on  his  head,  his  teeth  set, 
his  lips  apart  and  tightly  drawn,  and  his  eyes  glaring  with  pain 
and  vexation,  sai  looking,  or  rather  grinning,  like  a  hyena,  at 
the  other.  That  keen  sense  of  the  ridiculous  which  always  comes 
upon  us  so  inopportunely,  made  them  at  length  get  up,  and  the 
condolences  offered  on  all  sides,  in  the  most  tender  inflections  of 
voice,  but  with  countenances  which  but  too  plainly  showed  how 


58  THE   ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

great  was  the  effort  to  suppress  laughter,  excited  their  anger 
against  one  another  most  terribly  ;  nor  was  it  likely  to  be  the 
more  readily  allayed  by  seeing  Dan  Sweeny  walking  off  with 
the  prize,  the  contention  for  which  had  caused  their  misfortune. 
It  was  with  difficulty  they  could  be  kept  from  fighting.  Leaving 
them  to  settle  the  matter  as  they  pleased.  Sweeny  conducted  the 
lady  to  her  carnage,  close  to  which  a  new  scene  awaited  them. 

On  the  step  of  the  hackney  jauntjng-car  sat  O'Gorman, 
with  his  left  foot  upon  his  right  knee,  alternately  rubbing  his 
shin  very  gently,  and  hugging  the  leg  as  if  it  was  a  bal:iy,  groan- 
ing, and  screwnig  bis  face  into  the  most  hideous  grimaces.  After 
the  scene  they  had  just  witnessed,  this  was  irresistible,  and  Miss 
Kate  laughed  long  and  heartily.  Bob  looked  at  her,  made  a 
more  hideous  grimace  than  before,  groaned,  rubbed  more  vio- 
lently, and  then  giving  himself  a  most  ludicrous  twist,  grinned, 
rubbed,  and  groaned  again. 

"Why — ha-ha-ha  ! — Mr.  O'Gorman,  what — ha-ha-ha  ! — has 
happened  you  ?" 

"  Oh,  ah  !  oh  !  may  the  d I  beg  your  pardon.     But,  oh, 

hif !  to  the — och,  I  mean  bad  luck  to  all  wood  and  iron  !  Hif, 
oh  !  I  attempted  to  jump  upon  this  rascallynstep,  when  my  foot 
slipped  off,  and  down  I  came,  scraping  all  the  skin  off  my  shin 
bone.     Oh  !  bad  luck  to  it — to  the  step,  Imean." 

The  manner  in  which  he  said  this,  made  all  who  heard  him 
laugh  more,  but  he  did  not  seem  to  be  in  the  least  degree  dis- 
concerted ;  and  as  to  being  angry,  there  was  not  a  trace  of  it  on 
his  countenance. 

Sweeny,  who  prided  himself  upon  being  quite  a  ladies'  man, 
and  who  was  just  then  immensely  elated  at  having  distanced  all 
his  competitors,  but  especially  O'Goniian,  whose  retirement  from 
the  competition  he  considered  to  be  a  tacit  acknowledgment  of 
inferiority,  offered  a  jesting  sort  of  condolence  to  him,  and  re- 
commended him  strongly  to  rub  the  injured  part  with  vinegar,  or 
whiskey,  or  salt  and  water  ;  it  might  smart  a  little  at  first,  to 
be  sure,  and  make  him  grin  and  roar  somewhat,  but  it  would 
be  well  in  no  time  !     But  m  the  midst  of  his  badinage,  Miss 


AN    IRISH     "  PIC-NIC.  59 

O'Brien  missed  her  parasol,  and  he  was  obliged  to  run  back  to  the 
drawing-room  to  look  for  it. 

As  soon  as  he  had  disappeared  within  the  hall  door,  O'Gorman 
sprang  to  nis  feet,  and  drawing  the  parasol  from  the  breast  of  his 
coat,  tendered  it,  and  his  arm,  to  the  young  lady,  saying,  with 
the  greatest  exultation,  "  Hoaxed,  by  jingo !  alas !  poor 
Sweeny.  Come,  Miss  Kate,  your  brother  is  so  taken  up  with 
Miss  O'Donnell,  that  he  can't  attend  to  anything,  or  anybody. 
Never  mind  your  mother  ;  she  can't  bawl  out  at  us,  }'ou  know; 
and  if  she  attempted  to  scold,  she'd  be  voted  out.  I've  got 
Sharpe's  gig — come,  jump  up,  and  we'll  have  such  a  day  !  Oh, 
but  haven't  I  done  them  all  brown  !  Hurrah  for  Howth,  and  the 
sky  over  it !  Oh,  you  little  darling  !"  added  he,  restraining  him- 
self with  considerable  difficulty  from  giving  her  a  hug  and  a  kiss, 
as  she  laughingly  complied  with  his  invitation,  and  seated  herself 
with  him  in  the  gig,  just  as  Sweeny  returned,  protesting  himself 
unable  to  find  the  parasol.  "  Oh,  it  got  tired  waiting  for  you,  and 
came  of  itself.  But  I  say.  Sweeny,  capital  receipt  that  of  yours 
for  sore  shins  ;  quite  cured  mine  in  a  moment — first  application. 
Hullo  !  here,  you  will  probably  want  a  pocket  handkerchief 
during  the  day  ;  I'll  lend  you  one;"  and  Bob  threw  hira  his 
own.  "I  picked  his  pocket  in  the  drawing-room,"  said  he, 
turning  to  his  delighted  companion  ;  "  I  was  determined  that  he 
should  go  back  for  something  ;  and  hsre's  yours,  which  I  secured 
also.  Now,  then,  if  we  follow  those  rumbling  machines,  we 
shall  be  smothered  with  dust,  so  we  had  better  show  them  the 
way."  Chick,  chick — and  poor  Mrs.  O'Brien  could  scarcely 
believe  her  eyes  when  she  saw  her  daughter  whirl  past  her  in  a 
gigwith  one  of  the  most  incorrigible  scapegraces  in  the  Univer- 
sity. 

He  took  goo  1  care  that  they  should  not  be  recalled,  for  he  was 
out  of  sight  in  a  twinkling;  nor  did  the  party  get  a  view  of  him 
again  until  they  had  passed  Clontarf,  when  they  found  him  walk- 
ing the  horse  quietly,  in  order  that  they  might  overtake  him. 

In  those  days  the  favorite  resort  for  parties  of  pleasure  was  the 


60  THE    ZOZIMl'S    PAPERS. 

rocky  shore  of  Howth,  facing  Killiney,  and  our  party  had  select- 
ed a  spot  which  was  well  known  to  two  or  three  of  them.  It  was 
a  little  hollow  in  the  rocks,  where  the  mould  had  collected,  and 
was  covered  with  a  smooth,  close  sod.  Its  fonn  reseml^led  a 
horseshoe,  the  open  being  to  the  sea;  and  the  rock  descended  at 
that  side  perpendicularly  six  or  seven  feet  to  the  water.  There 
was  just  room  enough  for  t'le  party  to  seat  themselves  comforta- 
bly, so  that  every  one  could  enjoy  the  seaward  view.  It  was  a 
considerable  distance  from  the  place  where  the  vehicles  should 
stop;  indeed,  the  hill  intervened  and  sliould  be  crossed,  so  that 
it  was  no  trifling  matter  to  carry  a  large  basket  or  hamper  to  it. 

O'Gorman  resolved  not  to  encumber  himself  with  anything 
that  might  divide  his  attention  with  his  charming  partner;  and, 
accordingly,  when  they  had  pulled  up,  calling  to  the  driver  of 
thejarvey,  "Here,  JNIurphy,"  said  he,  "you'll  take  charge  of 
the  basket  that's  slung  under  the  gig,  and  follow  the  rest  when 
they're  ready." 

"Oh,  to  be  sure,  sir,  sartinly,"  was  the  reply,  and  away  went 
Bob  to  show  the  scenoiy  to  Mi>s  Kate,  from  various  points  quite 
unknown  to  her  before,  leaving  the  remainder  of  the  party  to  set- 
tle matters  as  they  pleased. 

Murphy's  assistance  was  required  by  the  servants  who  were  un- 
lading the  carriages  first;  and  each  gentleman,  taking  a  basket  or 
bundle,  and  even  the  ladies  charging  themselves  with  some  light 
articles,  they  set  forward,  leaving  two  or  three  heavy  hampers  to 
the-servants'  charge. 

All  having  at  length  departed,  except  Mr.  O'Donnell's  servant, 
who  had  been  left  in  charge  of  the  vehicles,  and  Murphy,  who 
was  to  take  the  gig  basket,  the  latter  proceeded  to  unslrap  it. 
As  he  shook  it  in  opening  the  buckles,  some  broken  glass  fell 
upon  the  road. 

"Oh!  miallia  murther!  what's  this?  My  sowl  to  glory,  if 
half  tho  bottom  isn't  out  ov  the  basket.  Och,  hone,  oh!  Mas- 
ther  Bob,  bud  you  are  the  raal  clip.  By  gannies,  he's  dhruv  till 
he's  dhruv  the  knives  and  forks  clane  through;  the  dickens  a 


AN    IRISH    *' PIC-NIC."  6l 

one  there's  left;  an'  as  for  the  glasses,  be  my  sowl  he'd  be  a 
handy  fellow  that  ud  put  otie  together.  Oh  !  marcy  sa'  me ! 
here's  a  purty  mess.  Musha  !  what's  best  to  be  done,  at  all,  at 
all?" 

"Take  it  to  them,  anyhow, "  answered  his  companion,  "and 
show  it  to  them.'' 

"  Arrah,  what's  the  use  of  hawkin'  it  over  the  mountain  ?  Can't 
Ijist  go  an'  tell  what's  happened?" 

"  Take  care  you  wouldn't  have  to  come  back  for  it,"  said  the 
other,  "an'  have  two  journeys  instead  of  one.  Maybe  they 
wouldn't  b'lieve  you,  thinkin'  it  was  only  a  thrick  that  that  limb 
o'  th'  ould  boy  put  you  up  to." 

The  prospect  of  a  second  journey,  on  such  a  hot  day,  not  being 
particularly  agreeable.  Murphy  took  up  the  shattered  basket  and 
proceeded . 

Having  yet  two  hours  to  spare,  the  party  resolved  to  consume 
them  by  sauntering  al) out  until  the  hour  appointed  for  dinner, 
which  being  come,  and  all  having  assembled  at  one  point,  near 
the  Bailey,  they  proceeded  together  to  the  chosen  spot,  where 
they  found  Murphy  awaiting  them  with  a  most  rueful  countenance. 
He  had  been  vainly  trying  to  invent  some  plausible  excuse  for 
his  patron,  as  he  dreaded  that  all  the  blame  would  be  thrown 
upon  Bob's  luird  driving  at  setting  out. 

"  Th.e  bottom's  fell  out  o'  the  blaggard  rotten  ould  bashket, 
ma'am,  an'  the  knives  an'  forks  has  fell  an  the  road." 

"Oh,  v/ell,"  said  Mr.  Sharpe  (who  did  not  seem  tol)e  eitherso 
astonished  or  angry  as  one  might  have  expected),  "give  them  a 
rub  in  a  napkin;  a  little  dust  won't  do  them  any  harm." 

"Why,  thin,  the  sorra  a  one  o'  them  there  is  to  a  rub,"  said 
Murphy,  "  barrin'  this  one  crukked  ould  fork." 

Despite  his  loss,  Mr.  Sharpe  could  not  refrain  from  laughing 
when  Murphy  held  up  an  article,  which  had  certainly  been  packed 
for  a  joke,  it  was  so  distorted,  one  prong  l^eing  tolerably  straight, 
but  the  other  sticking  out  as  if  it  was  going  to  march.  However, 
collecting  himself,  he  asked  sternly,  "  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me 
that  all  the  knives  and  forks  were  lost  upon  the  road  ?" 


62  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"Jistso,  sir,"  was  the  reply. 

"  The  glass;  is  it  safe  ?" 

"Bruck,  sir— all  in  smithereens;  sorra  as  much  ov  id  together 
as  ud  show  what  the  patthcrn  was." 

'*  And  the  spoons,"  roared  Mr.  Sharpe,  as  if  the  thought  had 
only  }v.:t  struck  him. 

"  Spoons !  sir.  Oh,  be  my  sowl  you'd  better  look  for  thim 
yourself;  here's  the  bashket." 

"  This  is  a  costly  party  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Sharpe,  "  but  itcan't 
be  helped  now;  so  don't  let  my  loss  cause  any  diminution  of 
your  plcojsure  or  enjoyment." 

Every  one  looked  MJth  perfect  admiration  at  Mr.  Sharpe,  sur- 
prised at  his  magnanimity,  and  Mrs.  Hai-vey  thought  that  she  must 
have  altogether  mistaken  his  character  hitherto;  but  she  would 
not  have  thought  so,  had  she  known  that  he  had  purposely  pro- 
cured a  rotten  basket,  with  the  bottom  partially  broken,  in  which 
he  had  packed  a  quantity  of  broken  glass,  and  in  which  he  (of 
course)  had  tiof  packed  either  spoons,  knives,  or  forks,  except  the 
very  one  which  Murphy  had  held  up;  and  it  was  to  prevent  exam- 
ination or  inquiry  that  he  had  been  so  voluble  upon  his  arrival  in 
the  morning.  But  had  his  loss  been,  as  the  company  supposed, 
real  instead  of  fictitious,  he  must  have  been  gratified,  nay,  de- 
lighted, at  the  dismay  which  gradually  spread  itself  over  almost 
every  countenance,  at  the  prospect  of  having  to  eat  a  dinner 
without  knives,  forks,  or  spoons,  and  to  drink  without  glasses,  or 
even  cups. 

♦' Gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Harvey,  "have  you  got  penknives 
vrith  you  ?     I  have  forgotten  mine." 

So  had  every  one  else  except  Mr.  Sharpe.  He  would  willingly 
have  kept  it  .secret,  but  he  knew  that  if  he  should  attempt  to 
use  it,  himself,  it  would'lie  .seen;  so  lie  made  a  virtue  of  neces.sity, 
and  lent  it  to  Mr.  Har\'ey  for  the  purpose  of  carving  the  roast 
beef! 

The  dinner  was  now  nearly  arranged,  and  the  Last  basket,  in 
which  MulhoUand  had  packed  the  roast  beef,  was  opened.  The 
remnant  of  an  old  college  gown  was  first  dragged  forth,  and  Mr. 


AN    IRISH    "  PIC-NIC."  63 

O'Brien's  servant,  to  whom  the  task  was  assigned,  looked  in,  tit- 
tered, looked  again,  and  then  drew  forth  two  long,  large  ribs, 
with  a  piece  of  meat  about  the  size  of  a  cricket  ball  attached  to 
the  ends  of  them.  Having  laid  them  on  the  dish,  he  dipped 
again,  and  produced,  with  another  titter,  a  shapeless  lump  of 
meat  without  any  bone — (he  would  be  a  clever  anatomist  that 
could  tell  what  part  of  the  beasit  it  had  been.)  Another  dip,  and 
with  a  roar  of  laughter  lie  raised  and  deposited  on  the  dish  four 
ribs,  from  which  nearly  every  morsel  of  meat  had  been  cut. 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  Mr.  O'Gorman?"  said  Mrs. 
Harvey,  who  was  quite  disconcerted  at  the  turn  things  had  taken, 
and  was  now  seriously  disposed  to  be  angry. 

"My  dear  madam,"  said  he,  "  it  may  look  a  little  unsightly, 
but  it  is  all  prime  meat,  depend  upon  it.  It  was  dressed  yester- 
day for  the  College  dining-hall." 

"You  don't  mean,  surely,  to  call  bare  bones  meat,  sir?" 

"  My  dear  madam,"  said  Bob,  "you  will  find  that  there  is  as 
much  meat  without  bone  as  will  compensate.  Mulholland  is  a 
very  honest  fellow  in  that  respect." 

Some  laughed,  some  were  annoyed,  some  were  disgusted;  but 
by  degrees  hunger  asserted  its  riglits,  and  reconciled  them  a  little, 
especially  when  O'Gorman  pointed  out  how  much  easier  it  would 
be  to  carve  the  small  jjieces  with  a  pc-nhiijf,  than  if  they  had  but 
one  large  one. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Harvey,  "I  have  long  indulged  the  hope 
of  having  a  pic-nic  party  so  perfectly  arranged  that  nothing  sliould 
go  astray;  and  so  far  have  I  been  from  succeeding,  that  I  really 
do  think  there  never  was  a  more  unfortunate,  irregular  affair.  I 
really  do  not  know  what  to  say,  and  I  feel  quite  incompetent  to 
preside.  Mr.  O'Gorman,  as  you  have  the  happy  knack  of  mak- 
ing the  best  of  everything,  I  believe  you  are  the  person  best  qual- 
ified in  this  co.Tipany  to  make  the  most  of  the  matter,  and  we 
must  rely  on  your  ingenuity." 

"Thank  you,  ma'am.  That  is  as  much  as  to  say,  'Bob,  as 
you  have  treated  us  to  broken  meat,  and  lost  the  knives  and 
forks,  you  will  please  to  carve  !'     Well,  nabocklish,  this  isn't  a 


^ 


64  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

round  table,  like  Prince  Arthur's,  for  it's  little  moi-e  than  half 
round,  and  we  have  old  Howth  at  the  head,  and  old  Neptune  at 
the  foot  of  it;  but,  for  the  rest,  we  don't  stand  upon  precedence, 
and  therefore  I  need  not  change  my  place,  to  preside.  Mr.  Har- 
vey, I'll  trouble  you  for  the  penknife — I  l^eg  pardon — the  carver 
— Irem  !  and  that  specimen  of  antediluvian  cutlery,  the  '■  criihkcd 
ouIJ/ork.^  Thank  you — shove  over  the  beef  now.  Ods  mar- 
row-bones and  cleavers !  what  a  heap  !  Gentlemen,  you  had 
better  turn  up  your  cuffs  as  a  needful  preliminary ;  and,  perchance, 
an  ablution  may  also  be  necessary — you  can  get  down  to  the 
water  here,  at  this  side." 

As  soon  as  the  parly  had  re-assembled,  after  having  washed 
their  hands,  he  again  addressed  them. 

"Mr.  Sharpe  and  Mr.  Harvey,  will  you  please  drag  that  tur- 
key asunder?  Mr.  O'Brien,  will  you  tear  a  wing  off  that  fowl 
for  Miss  O'Donnell  ?  Fitz,  gnaw  the  cord  off  one  of  those  ale 
bottles;  draw  the  cork  with  your  teeth,  and  send  the  bottle  round. 
The  corkscrew  was  with  the  knives." 

"  Draw  my  teeth  with  the  cork,  you  mean;  I  had  rather  knock 
off  the  neck,  thank  you,"  said  Fitz,  about  to  suit  the  action  to  the 
word. 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Bob,  "do  you  forget  that  we  must  drink  out 
of  the  bottles;  do  you  want  the  ladies  to  cut  their  pretty  lips 
with  the  broken  glass,  you  Mohawk  !  Though,  faith,"  said  he, 
'_  in  an  undertone,  to  his  fair  companion,  "I  could  almost  wish 
such  an  accident  to  happen  to  some  one  that  I  know,  that  I 
might  have  an  opportunity  of  exhibiting  my  devotion,  by  sucking 
the  wound  " 

"A  prize!  a  prize!"  cried  he,  jumping  up  and  running  a 
little  distance.  He  returned  with  five  or  six  Malahide  oyster 
<l)el!s,  that  had  been  bleaching  on  the  cliff,  where  they  had  been 
t^irown  by  some  former  party.  Two  of  them  were  top  shells. 
"  Here,"  said  he,  throwing  one  to  Sweeny,  "is  a  carver  for  that 
ham;  make  haste  and  put  an  edge  on  it,  on  the  rock.  Ladies, 
l.ere  arc  primitive  drinking  goblets  for  you.  Miss  O'Brien,  the 
^^leasure  of  a  j//<V/of  wine  with  you." 


AN    IRISH     "  PIC-NIC."  65 

"I  have  put  a  very  good  edge  on  the  shell,"  said  Sweeny, 
*«  but  I  can't  cut  the  ham  with  it,  it  slides  al:)out  so." 

"Psha  !  take  a  grip  of  it  by  the  shank,  can't  you?  What  are 
you  afraid  of,  you  omedhaun  ?  Hold  it  fast,  and  don't  let  it 
slide.  Costello,  break  up  that  loaf  and  send  it  round.  Mr. 
O'Donnell,  will  you  have  the  goodness  to  hold  one  of  these  ribs 
for  me.  Oh,  faiih,  finger  and  thumb  work  won't  do;  you  must 
take  it  in  your  fist,  and  hold  it  tight;  now  pull — bravo  !  Beau 
Brummell  would  be  just  in  liis  clement  here.  Be  my  sowl,  as 
Paddy  Murphy  says,  I  think  if  he  saw  us,  he'd  jump  into  that  ele- 
ment to  get  away." 

Mr.  Sharpc  was  now  in  his  glory ;  he  had,  with  Mr.  Harvey's 
assistance,  torn  up  the  turkey ;  and  seeing  that  Bob  had  decided- 
ly the  worst  job  on  the  table,  he  asked  him  for  beef.  Mr.  Harvey 
joined  in  the  joke,  and  put  in  also;  but  their  man  was  too  able 
for  them. 

"  As  you  are  in  partnership  in  the  turkey  business,  in  which 
you  have  been  so  successful,"  said  he,  "you  had  belter  continue 
so,  in  the  general  provision  line,"  handing  them  a  piece  sufficient 
to  satisfy  two,  and  prevent  them  from  calling  again. 

"  Bill"  (to  one  of  the  college  men),  "here's  a  shell  for  you  to 
cut  the  crust  of  that  pie,  and  help  it.  Jem"  (to  another),  "  Mis£ 
Kate  O'Brien  wishes  for  some  of  that  chicken  that  you  are  trying 
to  dislocate,  as  gently  as  if  you  were  afraid  of  hurting  it,  or  greas- 
ing your  fingers. " 

*•  Wliat  part  ?"  said  Jem. 

♦*A  little  of  the  soul,  if  you  please,"  said  Kate,  with  a  mali 
ciously  demure  face. 

"  Here  it  is  for  you,  Miss  Kate,  soul  and  body;"  and  he  hand- 
ed it  to  her. 

"The  mirth  and  fun  (now)  grew  fast  and  furious." 

No  water  fit  for  drinking  could  be  procured,  and  the  conse- 
quence was,  that  the  ale,  porter  and  wine,  were  swallowed  too 
abundantly  by  the  gentlemen.  Songs  were  called  for,  and 
O'Gormaa  was  in  the  midst  of  the  "  Groves  of  Blarney,"  when 
Costello  shouted  out,  "A  porpoise  !  a  porpoise  !" 


:/- 


66  ,  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS, 

Up  jumped  the  whole  party,  and  up  also  jumped  the  table-: 
cloth_,  which  Mr.  O'Donnell  and  Mr.  Sharpehad  fastened  to  their 
coats  or  waistcoats. 

They  sat  directly  facing  the  opening  to  the  water,  with  Mrs. 
Harvey  between  them;  so  that  when,  by  their  sudden  start  up, 
they  raised  the  cloth,  it  formed  an  inclinecf  plane,  down  which 
dishes,  plates,  pies,  bread  and  meat  glided,  not  majestically,  but 
too  rapidly,  into  the  sea.     Then,  oh,  what  a  clamor  ! 

Above  the  jingling  of  broken  battles  and  plates,  the  crash  of 
dishes,  und  the  exclamation  of  the  gentlemen,  arose  the  never- 
failing  shiiek  of  the  ladies.  And  then  came  a  pause,  whilst  they 
silently  watched  the  last  dish  as  it  gracefully  receded  from  their 
view. 

"Oh,  faith  !"  said  Mrs.  Harvey  (surprised  by  her  emotion  into 
using  a  gentle  oath),  "  I  think  it  is  time  to  go  home  ho7u." 

"Faith,"  said  O'Gorman,  "  it  is  time  to  leave  the  dinner-table 
at  all  events,  since  the  things  have  been  removed;  but  as  to  go- 
ing home,  we  have  so  little  to  carry,  or  look  after,  besides  our- 
selves and — hie — the  ladies,  that  I  think,  with  all  respect  to  Mrs. 
Harvey,  we  may — hie — take  it  easy.  I  wish  I  could  get  a  drink 
of  water  to  cure  this  hie — hiccough;  for  I  am  certai  i,  Miss 
O'Brien,  I  need  not  assure  you — indeed  I  can  appeal  to  you  to 
bear  witness — hie — that  it  was  the  wani,  not  the  quantity  of  li- 
quid, that  has  brought  it  on." 

The  'want,"  however,  had  made  Bob's  eyes  particularly  and 
unusually  luminous;  nor  did  Kate  take  his  proposition  "  to  launch 
all  the  hampei-s  and  baskets,  after  nieir  recent  contents,  into  the 
sea,"  to  be  any  additional  proof  of  his  self-possession;  and  when, 
with  a  caper  and  whoop,  he  sent  Mulholland's  basket  to  the 
fishes,  her  suspicions  that  he  was  slightly  elevated  became  con- 
sldera'bly  strengthened. 

"  Mrs.  Harvey,"  said  Mr.  Sharpe,  "  you  think  your  party  un- 
fortunate. I  have  been  upon  a  great  many  parties  of  this  kind, 
and  I  assure  you  I  have  seen  far  more  unpleasant  affairs  -{Gen- 
tlemen, here  are  a  few  bottles  of  wine  that  have  escaped  the  wa- 
tery fate  of  their  unhappy  companions).   Now,  the  very  last  party 


AN    IRISH     '*  PIC-NIC."  67 

that  I  was  on  last  season,  thre&  or  four  of  the  gentlemen  quar- 
reled (pass  the  wine,  if  you  please),  and  one  of  them,  in  the 
scrimmage,  was  knocked  over  the  rocks  into  the  sea." 

"  Mercy  on  us,  Mr.  Sharpe  !  was  he  drowned  ?" 

"Why,  no,  but  his  collar-bone  was  broken,  and  his  shoulder 
dislocated.     But  a  worse  accident  happened  coming  home." 

"What  was  it?" 

"  Poor  Singleton  had  come,  with  his  wife  and  two  nieces,  in  a 
job  carriage;  the  driver  got  drunk,  and  overturned  the  whole  con- 
cern, just  wheie  the  road  branches  off  down  to  the  strand;  they 
rolhd  over  the  cliff,  and  fell  about  twenty  feet;  the  horses  were 
both  killed,  and  the  whole  party  dreadfully  injured,  barely  escaping 
with  life.  Then,  the  quarrel  after  dinner  (liy  which  Jones  got  his 
collar-bone  broken)  led  to  a  duel  on  the  following  morning,  in 
which  one  of  the  parties,  Edwards,  fell;  and  his  antagonist,  young 
O'Neill,  got  a  bullet  in  his  knee,  which  has  lamed  and  disfigured 
hi  in  for  life.     Pass  the  wine,  gentlemen." 

"  No  !  no  !  no  !"  screamed  Mrs.  Harvey,  on  whom  the  above 
delectable  recital  had  had  the  desired  effect,  and  who  was  worked 
into  a  desperate  state  of  terror,  "no  more  wine,  gentlemen,  if 
you  please.  Come,  ladies,  we  must  return  at  once,  before  even- 
ing closes  in." 

Each  lady  being  perfectly  satisfied  that  the  gentleman  who  had 
fallen  to  her  lot  would  keep  sober,  whatever  others  might  do, 
demurred  to  the  early  retreat;  but  Mre.  Harvey  was  too  much 
frightened  at  the  prospect  of  returning  with  gentlemen  and  driv- 
ers drunk,  not  to  be  determined;  and,  accordingly,  with  much 
growling,  and  the  most  general  dissatisfaction,  the  party  broke 
up. 

•'I  am  done  with/zV-w/Vj — I'll  never  have  anything  to  say  to 
one  again, "  said  the  disappointed  directress.  "  There  never  was 
any  affair  more  perfectly  arranged,  never  was  so  much  care  taken 
to  have  things  regular.  I  never  proposed  to  myself  such  enjoy- 
ment as  I  expected  this  day." 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Harvey,"  said  O'Gorman,  to  whose  counte- 
nance the  last  four  or  five  shells  of  wine  had  impartei^   an  air  of 


68  THE   ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

the  most  profound  wisdom,  "  my  dear  Mrs.  Harvey,  'the  whole 
art  of  happiness  is  caiitentmeni.'  This  is  the  great  secret  of  en- 
joyment in  tliis  life — this  is  the  talisman  that  clothes  poverty  in 
imperial  robes,  and  imparts  to  the  hovel  a  grandeur  unknown  to 
the  halls  of  princes — this  is  the  true  philosopher's  stone,  for  which 
alchemists  so  long  have  sought  in  vain,  that  converts  all  it  touches 
into  gold — this  is  the  cosmetic  that  beautifies  the  ill-favored  wife, 
and  the  magic  wand  that  bestows  upon  the  frugal  board  the  ap- 
pearance of  surpassing  plenty — this  is  the  shield  of  adamantine 
proof,  on  which  disappointment  vainly  showers  its  keenest  darts — 
this  is  the  impregnable  fortress,  ensconced  in  which,  we  may 
boldly  bid  defiance  to  the  combined  forces  of  sublunary  ills— and 
whether  it  be  announced  from  the  pulpit  or  the  cliff,  by  the  dig- 
nified divine  or  the  college  scamp;  be  it  soothingly  whispered  in 
the  ear  of  the  deposed  and  exiled  monarch,  or  tendered  as  comfort 
to  the  discomfited  authoress  oi  tl picnic,  it  still  retains,  in  undi- 
minished force,  its  universality  of  application" 

Here  Mr.  Sweeny  facetiously  gave  him  a  slap  on  the  crown  of 
the  hat,  which  drove  it  down,  and  stuck  it  gracefully  over  his 
eye,  thereby  breaking  the  thread  of  his  discourse.  He  then  ad- 
dressed the  fair  Catherine;  but  all  his  eloquence  and  profundity 
were  unavailing  to  induce  her  to  return  with  him  in  the  gig. 
She  would  listen  to  nothing  but  the  caniage,  and  as  room  could 
not  be  made  for  him  inside,  he  mounted  the  box,  leaving  the  gig 
to  any  one  that  pleased  to.  have  it.  Nor  was  it  long  untenanted. 
Frank  Costello  and  Bill  Nowlan  mounted  together,  and  were 
found  in  it  next  morning  fast  asleep,  in  the  stable-lane  behind 
Mr.  Shaqxj's  house,  the  horse  having  found  his  way  home  when 
left  to  his  own  guidance. 

The  remainder  of  the  party  arrived  as  safely,  but  somewhat 
more  regularly,  in  the  evening  of  their  eventful  day,  and  all  dis- 
satisfied exceut  Mr.  O'Gorman. 


THE    IRISH    PARLIAMENT    AND    THE    TURK.  69 


THE  IRISH  PARLIAMENT  AND  THE  TURK„ 


Until  England  dragged  the  sister  kingdom  with  herself  into 
the  ruinous  expenses  of  the  American  War,  Ireland  owed  no 
debt.  There  were  no  taxes,  save  local  ones;  the  Irish  Parlia- 
ment, being  composed  of  resident  gentlemen  interested  in  the 
prosperity  and  welfare  of  their  country,  was  profuse  in  promot- 
ing all  useful  schemes;  and  no  projector  who  could  show  any 
reasonable  grounds  for  seeking  assistance,  had  difficulty  in  find- 
ing a  patron. 

Amongst  other  projectors  whose  ingenuity  was  excited  by  this 
liberal  conduct,  was  one  of  a  very  singular  description — a  Turk 
who  had  come  over,  or,  as  the  on  dit  went,  had_/?f(/  from  Con- 
stantinople. He  proposed  to  establish,  what  was  greatly  wanted 
at  that  time  in  the  Irish  metropolis,  "hot  and  cold  sea-water 
baihs,"  and,  by  way  of  advancing  his  pretensions  to  public  en- 
couragement, offered  to  open  free  baths  for  the  poor  on  an  exten- 
sive plan,  giving  them,  as  a  doctor,  attendance  and  z.(Ss'\c& gratis 
every  day  in  the  year.  He  spoke  English  very  intelligibly;  his 
person  was  extremely  remarkable,  and  the  more  so  as  lie  was  the 
first  Turk  '.vho  had  ever  walked  the  streets  of  Dublin  in  his  na- 
tive costui'ne.  He  was  in  height  considerably  above  six  feet, 
rather  pompous  in  his  gait,  and  apparently  powerful;  an  immense 
black  beard  covering  his  chin  and  upper  lip.  There  was  at  the 
same  time  something  cheerful  and  cordial  in  the  man's  address, 
and,  altogether,  he  cut  a  very  imposing  figure.  Everybody  liked 
Doctor  Achmet  Borumborad;  his  Turkish  dress,  being  extremely 
handsome,  without  an  approach  to  the  tawdry,  and  crowned 
with  an  immense  turban,  drew  the  eyes  of  every  Dasser-by,  and 


TO  THE    ZOZIMLS    PAPERS. 

I  must  say  that  I  have  never  seen  a  more  stately  looking  Turk 
since  that  period. 

The  eccentricity  of  the  doctor's  appearance  was,  indeed,  as 
will  be  readily  imagined,  the  occasion  of  much  idle  observation 
and  conjecture.  At  first,  whenever  he  went  abroad,  a  crowd  of 
people,  chiefly  boys,  was  sure  to  attend  him,  but  at  a  respectful 
distance;  and  if  he  turned  to  look  behind  him,  the  gaping  boobies 
fled,  as  if  they  conceived  even  his  looks  to  be  mortal.  These 
fears,  however,  gradually  wore  away,  and  were  entirely  shaken 
off  on  the  fact  being  made  public  that  he  meant  to  attend  the 
poor;  which  midertaking  was,  in  the  usual  spirit  of  exaggeration, 
soon  construed  into  an  engagement,  on  the  part  of  the  doctor,  to 
cure  all  disorders  whatever  !  and  hence  he  quickly  became  aii 
much  admired  and  respected  as  he  had  previously  been  dreaded. 

My  fair  readers  will  perhaps  smile  when  I  assure  them  that  the 
persons  who  seemed  to  have  the  least  apprehension  of  Doctor 
Borumborad,  or  rather  to  think  him  "a  very  nice  Turk,"  were 
the  ladies  of  the  metropolis.  Many  a  smart,  snug  little  husband, 
who  had  been  heretofore  considered  "  quite  the  tiling,"  despotic 
in  his  own  house,  and  peremptory  commandant  of  his  own 
family,  was  now  regarded  as  a  wretched,  contemptible,  dose- 
shaven  pigmy,  in  comparison  with  the  immensity  of  the  doctor's 
figure  and  whiskers;  and  what  is  more  extraordinary,  his  good 
humor  and  engaging  manners  gained  him  many  friends  even 
among  the  husbands  themselves  !  he  thus  becoming,  in  a  shorter 
period  than  could  be  imagined,  a  particular  favorite  with  the  en- 
tire city,  male  and  female. 

Doctor  Achmct  Borumborad  having  obtained  footing  thus  far, 
next  succeeded  surprisingly  in  making  his  way  amongst  the 
memlx;rs  of  Parliament.  He  was  full  of  conversation,  yet  knew 
his  proper  distance;  pregnant  with  anecdote,  but  discreet  in  its 
expenditure;  and  he  had  the  peculiar  talent  of  being  humble 
without  the  appearance  of  humility.  A  submissive  Turk  would 
have  been  out  of  character,  and  a  haughty  one  excluded  from 
society:  the  doctor  was  aware  of  this,  and  regulated  his  demeanor 
v/ith  remarkable  skill  upon  every  occasion — and  they  were  nu- 


THE    IRISH    PARLIAMENT    AND    THE    TURK.  7I 

merous — whereon,  as  a  "  lion,"  he  was  invited  to  the  tables  of  the 
great.  By  this  line  of  conduct  he  managed  to  warm  those  who 
patronized  him  into  violent  partisans;  and  accordingly  little  or 
no  difficulty  was  experienced  in  getting  a  grant  from  Parliament 
for  a  sufficient  fund  to  commence  his  great  metropolitan  under- 
taking. 

Baths  were  now  planned  after  Turkish  models.  The  money 
voted  was  most  faithfully  appropriated;  and  a  more  ingenious  or 
useful  establishment  could  not  be  found  in  any  metropolis. 
But  the  cash,  it  was  soon  discovered,  ran  too  short  to  enable  the 
doctor  to  complete  his  scheme;  and  on  the  ensuing  session  a  fur- 
ther vote  became  necessary,  which  was  by  no  means  oj^posed,  as 
the  institution  was  good,  fairly  executed,  and  charitably  applied. 
The  vrorthy  doctor  kept  his  ground — session  after  session  he  peti- 
tioned for  fresh  assistance,  and  never  met  with  refusal;  his  profits 
were  good,  and  he  lived  well;  whilst  the  baths  proved  of  the  ut- 
most benefit,  and  th3  poor  received  attention  and  service  from  his 
establishment  without  cost.  An  immense  cold  bath  was  con- 
structed to  communicate  with  the  river;  it  was  large  and  deep, 
and  entirely  renewed  every  tide.  The  neatest  lodging  rooms  for 
those  patients  who  chose  to  remain  during  a  course  of  bathing  were 
added  to  the  establishment,  and  always  occupied.  In  short,  the 
whole  affair  became  so  popular,  and  Doctor  Achmet  acquired  so 
many  friends,  that  the  annual  grants  of  Parliament  were  con- 
sidered nearly  as  matters  of  course. 

But  alas !  fortune  is  treacherous,  and  prosperity  unstable. 
Whilst  the  ingenious  Borumborad  was  thus  rapidly  flourishing, 
an  unlucky  though  most  ludicrous  incident  threw  the  poor  fellow 
completely  aback,  and,  without  any  fault  on  his  part,  nearly 
ruined  both  himself  and  his  institution. 

Preparatory  to  every  session  it  was  the  doctor's  invariable  cus- 
tom to  give  a  grand  dinner  at  the  baths  to  a  large  number  of  his 
patrons,  members  of  Parliament  who  were  in  the  habit  of  propos- 
ing and  supporting  his  giants.  Pie  always  on  these  occasions 
procured  some  professional  singers,  as  well  as  the  finest  wines  in 
Ireland,  endeavoring  tj  render  the  parties  as  joyous  and  convivial 


72  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

as  possible.  Some  nobleman,  or  commoner  of  note,  always 
acted  for  him  as  chairman,  the  doctor  himself  being  quite  unas- 
suming. 

At  the  commencement  of  a  session  whereupon  he  anticipated 
this  patronage,  it  was  intended  to  increase  his  grant,  in  order  to 
meet  the  expenses  of  certain  new  works,  etc.,  which  he  had  exe- 
cuted on  the  strength  of  the  ensuing  supply;  and  the  doctor  had 
invited  nearly  thirty  of  the  leading  members  to  a  grand  dinner  in 
his  spacious  saloon.  The  singers  were  of  the  first  order;  the 
claret  and  champagne  excellent;  and  never  was  the  Turk's  hos- 
pitality shown  off  to  better  advantage,  or  the  appetites  of  his 
guests  administered  to  with  greater  success.  The  effects  of  the 
wine  in  time  began  to  grow  obvious.  The  elder  and  more  discreet 
members  were  for  adjourning,  whilst  the  juveniles  declared  they 
would  stay  for  another  dozen;  and  Doctor  Borumborad  accord- 
ingly went  down  himself  to  his  cellar,  to  select  and  send  up  a 
choice  dozen,  by  way  o{  bonne  bouche,  for  "  finishing  "  the  refrac- 
tory members  of  Parliament. 

In  his  absence,  Sir  John  S.  Hamilton  took  it  into  his  head  that 
he  had  taken  enough,  and  rose  to  go  away,  as  is  customary  in 
these  days  of  freedom  when  people  are  so  circumstanced;  but  at 
that  period  men  were  not  always  their  own  masters  on  such 
occasions,  and  a  general  cry  arose  of,  "  Stop  Sir  John  !  stop  him  ! 
X\ie  boune  bouche  !  \X\q  bonne  boitche  !''''  The  carousers  were  on 
the  alert  instantly;  Sir  John  opened  the  door  and  rushed  out. 
The  ante-chamber  was  not  lighted;  some  one  or  two  and  twenty 
staunch  members  stuck  to  his  skirts — when  splash  at  once  comes 
Sir  John,  not  into  the  street,  but  into  the  great  cold  bath,  the  door 
of  which  he  had  retreated  by  in  mistake  !  The  other  Parliament 
men  were  too  close  upon  the  baronet  to  stop  short  like  the  horse 
of  a  Cossack  :  in  they  went  by  fours  and  ives;  and  one  or  two, 
who,  on  hearing  the  splashing  of  the  water,  cunningly  threw 
themselves  down  on  the  brink  to  avoid  popping  in,  operated  di- 
rectly as  stumbling-blocks  to  tliose  behind,  who  thus  obtained 
their  full  share  of  a  bonne  boiichc  none  of  the  parties  had  bar- 
gained for. 


THE   IRISH   PARLIAMENT   AND   THE   TURK.  73 

When  Doctor  Borumborad  re-entered,  ushering  a  couple  of 
servants  laden  with  a  dozen  of  his  best  wine,  and  missed  all  his 
company,  he  thought  some  devil  had  carried  them  off;  but  per- 
ceiving the  door  of  his  noble,  deep,  cold  salt-water  bath  open,  he 
with  dismay  rushed  thither,  and  espied  eighteen  or  nineteen  Irish 
Parliament  men  either  floating  like  so  many  corks  upon  the  sur- 
face, or  scrambling  to  get  out  like  mice  who  had  fallen  into  a 
basin  !  The  doctor's  posse  of  attendants  were  immediately  set  at 
work,  and  every  one  of  the  honorable  members  extricated  :  the 
quantity  of  salt  water,  however,  which  had  made  its  way  into 
their  stomachs  was  not  so  easily  removed,  and  most  of  them 
carried  the  beverage  home  to  their  own  bed-chambers. 

It  was  unlucky,  also,  that  as  the  doctor  was  a  Turk,  he  had  no 
Christian  wardrobe  to  substitute  for  the  well-soaked  garments  of 
the  honorable  members.  Such  dresses,  however,  as  he  had,  were 
speedily  put  into  requisition  :  the  bathing  attendants  furnished 
their  quota  of  dry  apparel;  and  all  were  speedily  distributed 
amongst  the  swimmers,  some  of  whom  exhibited  in  Turkish  cos- 
tume, others  in  bathing  shifts,  and  when  the  clothes  failed, 
blankets  were  pinned  around  the  rest.  Large  fires  were  made  in 
every  room;  brandy  and  mulled  wine  liberally  resorted  to;  and 
as  fast  as  sedan-chairs  could  be  procured,  the  Irish  Commoners 
were  sent  home,  cursing  all  Turks  and  infidels,  and  denouncing 
a  crusade  against  anything  coming  from  the  same  quarter  of  the 
globe  as  Constantinople. 

Poor  Doctor  Achmet  Borumborad  was  distracted  and  quite  in- 
consolable !  Next  day  he  duly  visited  every  suffering  member, 
and  though  well  received,  was  acute  enough  to  see  that  the  ridi- 
cule with  which  they  had  covered  themselves  was  likely  to  work 
out  eventually  his  ruin.  His  anticipations  were  well  founded : 
though  the  members  sought  to  hush  up  the  ridiculous  parts  of  the 
story,  they  became,  from  that  very  attempt,  still  more  celebrated. 
In  fact,  it  was  too  good  a  joke  to  escape  the  embellishments  of 
Irish  humor,  and  the  statement  universally  circulated  was — that 
"  Doctor  Borumborad  had  nearly  drowned  nineteen  members  of 
Parliament,  because  they  would  not  promise  to  vote  for  him !" 


74  THE   ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

The  poor  doctor  was  now  assailed  in  every  way.  Among 
other  things,  it  was  asserted  that  he  was  the  Turk  who  had 
strangled  tlie  Christians  in  the  Seven  Towers  at  Constantinople ! 
Though  everybody  laughed  at  their  oivn  inventions,  they  believed 
those  of  olher  people ;  and  the  conclusion  was,  that  no  more 
grants  could  be  proposed,  since  not  a  single  member  was  stout 
enough  to  mention  the  name  of  Borumborad  !  the  laugh,  indeed, 
would  have  overwhelmed  the  best  speech  ever  delivered  in  the 
Irish  Parliament. 

Still  the  new  works  must  be  paid  for,  although  no  convenient 
vote  came  to  make  the  necessary  provision  :  the  poor  doctor  was 
therefore  cramped  a  little,  but  notwithstanding  his  embarrassment 
he  kept  his  ground  well,  and  lost  no  private  friends  except  such 
as  the  wearing-oflf  of  novelty  estranged.  He  continued  to  get  on; 
and  at  length  a  new  circumstance  intervened  to  restore  his  happi- 
ness, in  a  way  as  little  to  be  anticipated  by  the  reader  as  was  his 
previous  discomfiture. 

Love  had  actually  seized  upon  the  Turk  above  two  years  be- 
fore the  accident  we  have  been  recording.  A  respectable  surgeon 
of  Dublin,  of  the  name  of  Hartigan,  had  what  might  be  termed 
a  very  "neat"  sister,  and  this  lady  had  made  a  lasting  impres- 
sion on  the  heart  of  Borumborad,  who  had  no  reason  to  complain 
of  his  suit  being  treated  with  disdain,  or  even  indifference.  On 
the  contrary.  Miss  Hartigan  liked  the  doctor  vastly,  and  praised 
the  Turks  in  general,  both  for  their  dashing  spirit  and  their 
beautiful  whiskers.  It  was  not,  however,  consistent  either  with 
her  own  or  her  brother's  Christianity  to  submit  to  the  doctor's 
tremendous  beard,  or  think  of  matrimony,  till  "  he  had  shaved 
the  chin  at  least,  and  got  a  parson  to  turn  him  into  a  ("liristian, 
or  something  of  that  kind."  Upon  those  terms  only  would  she 
surrender  her  charms  and  her  money,  for  some  she  had,  to  Doctor 
Achmct  Borumborad,  however  amiable. 

The  doctor's  courtship  with  the  members  of  Parliament  having 
now  terminated,  so  far  at  any  rate  as  further  grants  were  con- 
cerned, and  a  ^ra«/ of  a  much  more  tender  nature  being  now 
within  his  reach,  he  began  seriously  to  consider  if  he  should  not 


THE  IRISH  PARLIAMENT  AND  THE  TURK,     75 

at  once  capitulate  to  Miss  Hartigan,  and  excliange  his  beard  and 
his  Alcoran  for  a  razor  and  the  New  Testament.  After  weighing 
matters  deliberately,  love  prevailed,  and  he  intimated  by  letter, 
in  the  proper  vehemence  of  Asiatic  passion,  his  determination  to 
turn  Christian,  discard  his  beard,  and,  throwing  himself  at  the 
feet  of  his  beloved,  vow  eternal  fidelity  to  her  in  the  holy  bands 
of  matrimony.  He  concluded  by  requesting  an  interview  in  the 
presence  of  the  young  lady^'s  confidant,  a  Miss  Owen,  who  resided 
next  door.  His  request  was  granted,  and  he  repeated  his  pro- 
posal, which  was  duly  accepted,  Miss  Hartigan  stipulating  that 
he  should  never  see  her  again  until  the  double  promise  in  his  let- 
ter was  fully  redeemed,  upon  which  he  might  mention  his  own 
day  for  the  ceremony.  The  doctor,  having  engaged  to  comply, 
took  leave. 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day  a  gentleman  was  announced 
to  the  bride  elect  with  a  message  from  Doctor  Achmet  Borumbo- 
rad.  Her  confidential  neighbor  was  immediately  summoned,  the 
gentleman  waiting  meantime  in  a  coach  at  the  door.  At  length 
Miss  Hartigan  and  her  friend  being  ready  to  receive  him,  in 
walked  a  Christian  gallant,  in  a  suit  of  full-dress  black,  and  a 
very  tall,  fine-looking  Christian  he  was  !  Miss  Hartigan  was  sur- 
prised ;  she  did  not  recognize  her  lover,  particularly  as  she  thought 
it  impossible  he  could  have  been  made  a  Christian  before  the  en- 
suing Sunday !  He  immediately,  however,  fell  on  his  knees, 
seized  and  kissed  her  lily  hand,  and  on  her  beginning  to  expos- 
tulate, cried  out  at  once,  "Don't  be  angry,  my  dear  creature  !  to 
tell  the  honest  truth,  I  am  as  good  el  Christian  as  the  archbishop; 
I'm  your  own  countryman,  sure  enough  !  Mr.  Patrick  Joycp  from 
Kilkenny  county — not  a  Turk  any  more  than  yourself,  my  sweet 
angel !"  The  ladies  were  astonished;  but  astonishment  did  not 
prevent  Miss  Hartigan  from  keeping  her  word,  and  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Joyce  became  a  very  loving  and  happy  couple. 

The  doctor's  great  skill,  however,  was  supposed  to  lie  in  his 
beard  and  faith;  consequently,  on  this  denouement,  the  baths  de- 
clined. But  the  honest  fellow  never  had  done  any  discreditable 
or  improper  act — none,  indeed,  was  ever  laid  to  his  charge ;  he 


y6  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS, 

ftdly  performed  every  engagement  with  the  Parliament  whilst  he 
retained  the  power  to  do  so. 

His  beauty  and  portly  apf)earance  were  considerably  dimin- 
ished by  his  change  of  garb.  The  long  beard  and  picturesque 
dress  had  been  half  the  battle;  and  he  was,  after  his  transforma- 
tion,  but  a  plain,  rather  coarse,  but  still  brave -looking  fellow. 
An  old  memorandum-book  reminded  me  of  these  circumstances, 
as  it  noted  a  payment  made  to  him  by  me  on  behalf  of  my  elder 
brother,  who  had  been  looking  in  the  bath-house  at  the  time  of 
the  "swimming  match." 

This  little  story  shows  the  facility  with  which  public  money 
was  formerly  voted,  and  at  the  same  time  the  comparatively 
fortunate  financial  state  of  Ireland  at  that  period,  when  the  pub- 
lic purse  could  afford  a  multiplicity  of  such  supplies  without  any 
tax  or  imposition  whatsoever  being  laid  upon  the  people  to  pro- 
vide for  them. 


BOTHERING   AN    EDITOR.  77 


BOTHERING  AN   EDITOR. 


However  astonished  I  had  been  at  the  warmth  by  which  I  was 
treated  in  London,  I  was  still  less  prepared  for  the  enthusiasm 
which  greeted  me  in  every  town  through  which  I  passed.  There 
was  not  a  village  where  we  stopped  to  change  horses  whose  in- 
habitants did  not  simultaneously  pour  forth  to  welcome  me  with 
every  demonstration  of  delight.  That  the  fact  of  four  horses  and 
a  yellow  chaise  should  have  dieted  such  testimonies  of  satisfac- 
tion was  somewhat  difficult  to  conceive ;  and,  even  had  the  im- 
portant news  that  I  was  the  bearer  ofdispatches  been  telegraphed 
from  Loiidon  by  successive  postboys,  still  the  extraordinary  ex- 
citement ^was  unaccountable.  It  was  only  on  reacliing  Bristol 
that  I  learned  to  what  circumstance  my  popularity  was  owing. 
My  servant  Milve,  in  humble  imitation  of  election  practices,  had 
posted  a  large  placard  on  the  back  of  the  chaise,  announcing,  in 
letters  of  portentous  length,  something  like  the  following: 

"Bloody  news!  Fall  of  Ciudad  Rodrigo !  Five  thousand 
prisoners  and  two  hundred  pieces  of  cannon  taken  !" 

This  veracious  and  satisfactory  statement,  aided  by  Mike's 
personal  exertions,  and  an  unwearied  performance  on  the  trumpet 
he  had  taken  from  the  French  dragoon,  had  roused  the  popula- 
tion of  every  hamlet,  and  made  our  journey  from  London  to 
Bristol  one  scene  of  uproar,  noise  and  confusion.  All  my  at- 
tempts to  suppress  Mike's  oratory  or  music  were  perfectly  un- 
availing. In  fact,  he  had  pledged  my  health  so  many  times 
during  the  day — he  had  drunk  so  many  toasts  to  the  success  of 
the  British  arms — so  many  to  the  English  nation— so  many  in 
honor  of  Ireland — and  so  many  in  honor  of  Mickey  Free  himself, 
that  all  reject  for  my  authority  was  lost  in  his  enthusiasm  for  my 


78  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

greatness,  and  his  shouts  became  wilder,  and  the  blasts  from  the 
trumpet  more  fearful  and  incoherent;  and  finally,  on  the  last 
stage  of  our  journey,  having  exhausted  as  it  were  every  tribute  of 
his  lungs,  he  seemed  (if  I  were  to  judge  by  the  evidence  of  my 
ears)  to  be  performing  something  very  like  a  hornpipe  on  the 
roof  of  the  chaise. 

Happily  for  me  there  is  a  limit  to  all  human  efforts,  and  even 
his  powers  at  length  succumbed ;  so  that,  when  we  arrived  at 
Bristol,  I  persuaded  him  to  go  to  bed,  and  I  once  more  was  left 
to  the  enjoyment  of  some  quiet.  To  fill  up  the  few  hours  which 
intervened  before  bedtime,  I  strolled  into  the  cofiee-room.  The 
English  look  of  every  one  and  everything  around  had  still  its 
charm  for  me;  and  I  was  contemplating,  with  no  small  admira- 
tion, that  air  of  neatness  and  propriety  so  observant — from  the 
bright-faced  clock,  that  ticked  unwearily  upon  the  mantelpiece, 
to  the  trim  wiiter  himself,  with  noiseless  step,  and  that  mixed 
look  of  vigilance  and  vacancy.  The  perfect  stillness  struck  me, 
save  when  a  deep  voice  called  for  "  another  brandy-and-water," 
and  some  more  modestly -toned  request  would  utter  a  desire  for 
'  more  cream."  The  attention  of  each  man,  absorbed  in  the 
folds  of  his  voluminous  newspaper,  scarcely  deigning  a  glance  at 
the  new  comer  who  entered,  were  all  in  keeping,  giving  in  their 
solemnity  and  gravity  a  character  of  almost  religious  seriousness 
to  what,  in  any  other  land,  would  be  a  scene  of  riotous  noise  and 
discordant  tumult.  I  was  watching  all  these  with  a  more  than 
common  interest,  when  the  door  opened,  and  the  waiter  entered 
with  a  large  placard.  He  was  followed  by  another  with  a  ladder, 
by  whose  assistance  he  succeeded  in  attaching  the  large  square  of 
paper  to  the  wall,  above  the  fireplace.  Every  one  about  rose  up, 
curious  to  ascertain  what  \vas  going  forward;  and  I  myself  joined 
in  the  crowd  around  the  fire.  The  first  glance  of  the  announce- 
ment showed  me  what  it  meant;  nnd  it  was  with  a  str.ange  mix- 
ture  of  shame  arnl  confusion  I  read : 

"Fall  of  Ciudad  Rodrigo;  with  a  full  and  detailed  account  of 
the  storming  of  tlie  great  bread) — capture  of  the  enemy's  cannon, 
etc. — by  Michael  Free,  14th  Light  Dragoons." 


BOTHERING    AN    EDITOR.  79 

Leaving  the  many  around  me  busied  in  conjecturing  who  the 
aforesaid  Mr.  Free  might  be,  and  what  peculiar  opportunities  he 
might  have  enjoyed  for  his  report,  I  hurried  from  the  room  and 
called  the  waiter. 

"  What's  the  meaning  of  the  announcement  you've  just  put  up 
in  the  coffee-room?     Where  did  it  come  from?" 

"  Most  important  news,  sir;  exclusively  in  the  columns  of  the 
Bristol  Telegraph;  the  gentleman  has  just  arrived " 

"  Wlio,  pray  ?     ^Vhat  gentleman  ?" 

"  Mr.  Free,  sir,  No.  13 — large  bedroom — blue  damaslc — sup- 
per for  two — oysters — brandy  and  water — mulled  port." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?     Is  the  fellow  at  supper?" 

Somewhat  shocked  by  the  tone  I  ventured  to  assume  towards- 
the  illustrious  narrator,  the  waiter  merely  bowed  his  reply. 

"  Show  me  to  his  room,"  said  I;  "I  should  like  to  see  him." 

'*  Follow  me,  if  you  please,  sir— this  way — what  name  shall 
I  say?" 

"  You  need  not  mind  announcing  me — I'm  an  old  acquaint- 
ance— ^just  show  me  the  room." 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  but  Mr.  Meekins,  the  editor  of  the  Tele- 
p-aph,  is  engaged  with  him  at  present;  and  positive  orders  are 
given  not  to  suffer  any  interruption." 

"  No  matter;  do  as  I  bid  you.  Is  that  it  ?  Oh  !  I  hear  his 
voice.  There,  that  will  do.  You  may  go  downstairs;  I'll  in- 
troduce myself." 

So  saying,  and  slipping  a  crown  into  the  waiter's  hand,  I  pro- 
ceeded cautiously  towards  the  door,  and  opened  it  stealthily. 
My  caution  was,  however,  needless;  for  a  large  screen  was  drawn 
across  this  part  of  the  room,  completely  concealing  the  door; 
closing  which  behind  me,  I  took  my  place  beneath  the  shelter 
of  this  ambuscade,  determined  on  no  account  to  be  perceived 
by  the  parties. 

Seated  in  a  large  arm-chair,  a  smoking  tumbler  of  mulled  port 
before  him,  sat  my  friend  Mike,  dressed  in  my  full  regimentals, 
even  to  the  helmet,  which,  unfortunately,  however,  for  the  effect, 
he  had  put  on  back  foremost;  a  short  "dudeen"  graced  his  lip, 
and  the  trumpet^  so  frequently  alluded  to,  lay  near  him. 


So  THE   ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

Oppoate  him  sat  a  short,  puny,  round-faced  little  gentleman, 
with  rolling  eyes  and  a  tumed-up  nose.  Numerous  sheets  of 
paper,  pens,  etc.,  lay  scattered  about;  and  he  evinced,  by  his  air 
and  gesture,  the  most  marked  and  eager  attention  to  Mr.  Free's 
narrative,  whose  frequent  interruptions,  caused  by  the  drink  and 
the  oysters,  were  viewed  with  no  small  impatience  by  the  anxious 
■  editor. 

"  You  must  remember,  captain,  time's  passing;  the  placards 
are  all  out;  must  be  at  press  before  one  o'clock  to-night;  the 
morning  edition  is  everything  with  us.     You  were  at  the  first  par- 
-allel,  I  think." 

"  Not  a  one  o'  me  knows.  Just  ring  that  bell  near  you.  Them's 
elegant  oysters;   and   you're   not  taking   your  drop  of  liquor. 

Here's  a  toast  for  yt)u;  '  May' Whoop  ! — raal  Carlingfords, 

upon  my  conscience.  See,  now,  if  1  won't  hit  the  little  black 
•  chap  up  there,  the  fTi"5t  shot." 

Scarcely  were  the  words  spoken,  when  a  little  painted  bust  of 
'  Shakspeare  fell  in  fragments  on  the  floor  as  an  oyster-shell  laid 
him  low. 

A  faint  effort  at  a  laugh  at  the  eccentricities  of  his  friend  was 
all  the  poor  editor  could  accomplish,  while  Mike's  triumph  knew 
no  bounds. 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you?     But  come,  now — are  you  ready  ?     Give 
'■  the  pen  a  drink,  if  you  won't  take  one  yourself." 

"  I'm  ready,  quite  ready,"  responded  the  editor. 

"Faith,   an  it's  more  nor  I  am.     See  now,  here  it  is:     The 
■  night  was  murthering  dark;  you  could  not  see  a  stim." 

"  Not  see  a — what  ?" 

"A  stim,  bad  wind  to  you;  don't  you  know  English?  Hand 
me  the  hot  water.     Have  you  that  down  yet?" 

"Yes.     Pray  proceed." 

"  The  fifth  division  was  ordhered  up,  bekase  they  were  fight- 
ing chaps;  the  Eighty -eighth  was  among  them;  the  Rangers 

Oh  !  upon  my  word,  we  must  drink  the  Rangers.  Here,  not  a 
one  o'  me  will  go  on  till  we  give  them  all  the  honors— hip- 
begin." 


BOTHERING    AN    EDITOR.  8 1 

'•Hip  !"  sighed  the  luckless  editor,  as  he  rose  from  his  chair, 
obedient  to  the  command. 

"  Hurra— hurntr— hurra  I  Well  done  !  there's  stuff  in  you  yet, 
ould  foolscap !  Tlie  little  bottle  is  empty — ring  again,  if  you 
plaze.  Arrah,  don't  be  looking  miserable  and  dissolute  that 
way.     Sure  I'm  only  getting  myself  up  for  you." 

•♦  Really,  Mr.  Free,  I  see  no  prospect  of  our  ever  getting  done." 

"The  saints  in  heaven  forbid,"  interrupted  Mike,  piously; 
'•the  evening's  young,  and  drink  plenty.  Here,  now,  make 
ready !" 

The  editor  once  more  made  a  gesture  of  preparation. 

"Well,  as  I  vi^as  saying,"  resumed  Mike,  "it  was  pitch  dark 
when  the  columns  moved  up,  and  a  cold,  raw  night,  with  a  little 
thin  rain  falling.     Have  you  that  down  ?" 

"  Yes.     Pray  go  on." 

"Well,  just  as  it  might  be  here,  at  the  corner  of  the  trench  I 
met  Dr.  Quill.  'They're  waiting  for  you,  Mr.  Free,'  says  he, 
'down  there.  Picton's  asking  for  you.'  'Faith  and  he  must 
wait,'  says  I,  'for  I'm  terrible  dry.'  With  that,  he  pulled  out 
his  canteen  and  mixed  me  a  little  brandy-and-water.  '  Are  you 
taking  it  without  a  toast?'  says  Doctor  Maurice.  '  Never  fear,' 
says  I;  '  here's  Mary  Brady  ' " 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  inteqjosed  Mr.  Meekins,  "pray  do  re- 
member this  is  somewhat  irrelevant.  In  fifteen  minutes  it  will  be 
twelve  o'clock." 

"  I  know  it,  ould  boy,  I  know  it.  I  see  what  you're  at.  You 
were  going  to  observe  how  much  better  we'd  be  for  a  broiled 
bone." 

"Nothing  of  the  kind,  I  assure  you.  For  heaven's  sake,  no 
more  eating  and  drinking." 

"  No  more  eating  nor  drinking!  Why  not?  You've  a  nice 
notion  of  a  convivial  evening.  Faith,  we'll  have  the  broiled  bone 
sure  enough,  and,  what's  more,  a  half  gallon  of  the  strongest 
punch  they  can  make  us;  an'  I  hope  that,  grave  as  you  are,  you'll 
favor  the  company  with  a  song." 

"Really,  Mr.  Free " 


82  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"  Arrali  f  none  of  your  blarney.  Don't  be  misthering  me.  Call 
me  Mickey — Mickey  Free,  if  you  like  better." 

"  I  protest,"  said  the  editor,  with  dismay,  "  that  here  we  are 
two  hours  at  work,  and  haven't  got  to  the  foot  of  the  great 
breach." 

"And  wasn't  the  .army  three  months  and  a  half  in  just  getting 
that  far,  with  a  battering  train,  and  inortars,  and  the  finest  troops 
ever  was  seen  ?  and  there  you  sit,  a  little  fat  creature  with  your 
pen  in  your  hand,  grumbling  that  you  can't  do  more  than  the 
British  army.  Take  care  you  don't  provoke  me  to  beat  you;  for 
I  am  quiet  till  I'm  roused.     Cut,  by  the  Rock  o'  Cashel " 

Here  he  grasped  the  brass  trumpet  with  an  energy  that  made 
the  editor  spring  from  his  chair. 

"For  mercy's  sake,  Mr.  Free " 

"Well,  I  won't;  but  sit  down  there,  and  don't  be  bothering 
me  about  sieges,  and  battles,  and  things  that  you  know  nothing 
about." 

"I  protest,"  rejoined  Mr.  Meekins,  "that  had  you  not  sent  to 
my  office  intimating  your  wish  to  communicate  an  account  of  the 
siege,  I  never  should  have  thought  of  intruding  myself  upon  you. 
And  now,  since  you  appear  indisposed  to  afford  the  information 
in  question,  if  you  will  permit  me,  I'll  wish  you  a  very  good 
nigiit." 

"Faith,  and  so  you  shall,  and  help  me  to  pass  one  too;  fornot 
a  step  out  o'  that  chair  shall  you  take  till  morning.  Do  ye  think 
I  am  going  to  be  left  here  by  myself,  all  alone?" 

"I  must  observe "  said  Meekins. 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure,"  said  Mickey;  "I  .see  what  you  mean. 
You're  not  the  best  of  company,  it's  true;  but  at  a  pinch  like 
this There  now,  take  your  liquor." 

"  Once  for  all,  sir,"  said  the  editor,  "  I  would  beg  you  to  reccl- 
lect  that  on  the  faith  of  your  message  to  me  I  have  announced 
an  account  of  the  storming  of  Ciudad  Rodrigo  for  our  morning 
edition.  Are  you  prepared,  may  I  ask,  for  the  consequences  of 
my  disa.ppointing  ten  thousand  readers?" 

"It's  little  I  care  for  one  of  them.  I  never  knew  much  of  read- 
ing myself. ' ' 


BOTHERING    AN    EDITOR.  8$ 

•'If  you  think  to  make  a  jest  of  me,"  interposed  Mr.  Meekins, 
reddening  with  passion. 

"A  jest  of  you!  Troth  it's  little  fun  I  can  get  out  of  you  j 
you're  as  tiresome  a  creature  as  ever  I  spent  an  evening  with. 
See  now,  I  told  you  before  not  to  provoke  me.  We'll  have  a  lit- 
tle more  drink;  ring  the  bell.  Wlio  knows  but  you'll  turn  out 
better  by  and  by?" 

As  Mike  rose  at  these  words  to  summon  the  waiter,  Mr,  Meek- 
ins  seized  the  opportunity  to  make  his  escape.  Scarcely  had  he 
reached  the  door,  hov/ever,  when  he  was  perceived  by  Mickey, 
who  hurled  the  trumpet  at  him  with  all  his  force,  while  he  uttered 
a  shout  that  nearly  left  the  poor  editor  lifeless  with  terror.  This 
time,  happily,  Mr.  Free's  aim  failed  him,  and,  before  he  could 
arrest  the  progress  of  his  victim,  he  had  gained  the  corridor,  and, 
with  one  bound,  cleared  the  first  flight  of  the  staircase,  his  pace 
increasing  every  moment  as  Mick's  denunciations  grew  louder 
and  louder,  till  at  last,  as  he  reached  the  street,  Mr.  Free's  de- 
light overcame  his  indignation,  and  he  threw  himself  upon  a 
chair  and  lauglied  immoderately. 


84  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 


A   FENIAN   TALE. 


On  a  certain  day  a  fair  and  a  gathering  were  held  at  Bineadar, 
by  the  seven  ordinary  and  seven  extraordinary  battalions  of  the 
Fenians  of  Erinn.  In  tlie  course  of  the  day,  on  casting  a  look  over 
the  broad  expanse  of  the  sea,  they  beheld  a  large,  smooth-sided, 
and  proud-looking  ship  ploughing  the  waves  from  the  east  and 
approaching  them  under  full  sail,  ^^^len  the  capacious  vessel 
touched  the  shore  and  lowered  her  sails,  the  Fenians  of  Erinn 
counted  upon  seeing  a  host  of  men  disembark  from  her;  and  great 
was  tlieir  surprise  when  one  warrior,  and  no  more,  came  out  of 
the  ship  and  landed  on  the  beach.  He  was  a  hero  of  the  largest 
make  of  body,  the  strongest  of  champions,  and  the  finest  of  the 
human  race;  and  in  this  wise  was  the  kingly  warrior  equipped:  — 
an  impenetrable  helmet  of  polished  steel  encased  his  ample  and 
beautiful  head,  a  deep-furrowed,  thick-backed,  sharp-edged 
sword  hung  at  his  left  side;  and  a  purple  bossed  shield  was  slung 
over  his  shoulder.  Such  were  his  chief  accoutrements;  and 
armed  in  this  fashion  and  manner  did  the  stranger  come  into  the 
presence  of  Finn  MacCoole  and  the  Fenians  of  Erinn . 

It  was  tlien  that  Finn,  the  King  of  the  Fenians,  addressed  the 
heroic  champion,  and  questioned  liim,  saying,  "  From  what  quar- 
ter of  the  globe  hast  thou  come  unto  us,  O  goodly  youth  ?  or 
from  which  of  the  noble  or  ignoble  races  of  the  universe  art  thou 
sprung?     Whoartlhou?"  •* 

"  I  am,"  answered  the  stranger,  "  Ironbones,  the  son  of  the 
King  of  Thcssaly ;  and  so  far  as  I  have  traveled  on  this  globe, 
since  the  day  that  I  left  my  own  land,  I  have  laid  every  country, 
peninsula  and  island,  under  contribution  to  my  sword  and  my 
arm:  this  I  have  done  even  to  the  present  hour;  and  my  desire 


A   FENIAN   TALE.  85 

is  to  obtain  the  crown  and  tribute  of  this  country  in  like  manner; 
for  if  I  obtain  them  not,  I  purpose  to  bring  slaughter  of  men  and 
deficiency  of  heroes  and  youthful  warriors  on  the  seven  ordinaiy 
and  seven  extraordinary  battalions  of  the  Fenian  host.  Such,  O 
king,  is  the  object  of  my  visit  to  this  country,  and  such  is  my 
design  in  landing  here." 

Hereupon  uprose  ConAn  the  Bald,  and  said,  "  Of  a  truth,  my 
friend,  it  seems  to  me  that  you  have  come  upon  a  foolish  enter- 
prise, and  that  to  the  end  of  your  life,  and  the  close  of  your  days, 
you  will  not  be  able  to  accomplish  your  purpose;  because  from 
the  beginning  of  ages  until  now,  no  man  ever  heard  of  a  hero  or 
ever  saw  a  champion  coming  with  any  such  mighty  design  to 
Ireland,  who  did  not  find  his  match  in  that  same  country." 

But  Ironbones  replied:  "  I  make  but  very  little  account  of  your 
speech,  Condn,"  said  he;  "for  if  all  the  Fenian  heroes  who  have 
died  within  the  last  seven  years  were  now  in  the  world,  and  were 
joined  by  those  who  are  now  living,  I  would  visit  all  of  them 
with  the  sorrow  of  death  and  show  all  of  them  the  shortness  of 
life  in  one  day;  nevertheless  I  will  make  your  warriors  a  more 
peaceable  proposal.  I  challenge  you  then,  O  waiTior,  to  find 
me  a  man  among  you  who  can  vanquish  me  in  running,  in  fight- 
ing or  in  wrestling;  if  you  can  do  this,  I  shall  give  you  no  further 
trouble,  but  return  to  my  own  country  without  loitering  here  any 
longer." 

"  And  pray,"  inquired  Finn,  "  which  of  those  three  manly  ex- 
ercises that  you  have  named  will  it  please  you  to  select  for  the 
first  trial  of  prowess  ?" 

To  this  Ironbones  answered,  "If  you  can  find  for  me  any  one 
champion  of  your  number  who  can  run  faster  than  1  can,  I  will 
give  you  no  further  annoyance,  but  depart  at  once  to  my  own 
country." 

"It  so  happens,"  said  Finn,  "that  our  Man  of  Swiftness, 
Keelte  MacRonaa,  is  not  here  at  present  to  try  his  powers  of 
running  with  you  ;  and  as  he  is  not,  it  were  better,  O  hero,  that 
you  should  sojourn  here  a  season  with  the  Fenians,  that  you  and 
they  may  mutually  make  and  appreciate  each  other's  acquaint- 


86  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

ance  by  means  or  conversation  and  amusements,  as  is  our  wont. 
In  the  meanvhile  I  will  repair  to  Tara  of  the  Kings  in  quest  oi 
Keelte  MacRonan;  aiid  if  I  have  not  the  good  fortune  to  find 
him  there,  I  shall  certainly  meet  with  him  at  Ceis-Corann  of  the 
Fenii,  from  whence  I  shall  without  delay  bring  him  hither  to 
meet  you." 

To  this  Ironbones  agreed,  saying  that  he  was  well  satisfied 
with  what  Finn  proposetl ;  and  thereupon  Finn  proceeded  on  his 
way  towards  Tara.  of  the  Kings,  in  search  of  Keelte.  Now  it 
fell  out  that  as  he  journeyed  along  he  missed  his  way,  so  that  he 
came  to  a  dense,  wide  and  gloomy  wood,  divided  in  the  midst 
by  a  broad  and  miry  road  or  pathway.  Before  he  had  advanced 
more  than  a  very  little  distance  on  this  road,  he  perceived  coming 
directly  towards  him  an  ugly,  detestable-looking  giant,  who  wore 
a  gray  frieze  coat,  the  skirts  of  which  reached  down  to  the  calves 
of  his  legs,  and  were  bespattered  with  yellow  mud  to  the  depth 
of  a  hero's  hand;  so  that  every  step  he  made,  the  lower  part  of 
that  coat  struck  with  such  violence  against  his  legs  as  to  produce 
a  sound  that  could  be  distinctly  heard  a  full  mile  of  ground  off. 
Each  of  the  two  legs  that  sustained  the  unwieldy  carcass  of  this 
horrible  hideous  monster  was  like  the  mast  of  a  great  ship,  and 
each  of  the  two  shoes  that  were  under  his  shapeless,  horny,  long- 
nailed  hoofs,  resembled  a  roomy  long-sided  boat;  and  every  time 
he  lifted  his  foot,  and  at  every  step  that  he  walked,  he  splashed 
up  from  each  shoe  a  {jood  barrelful  of  mire  and  water  on  the 
lower  part  of  his  Ixjdy.  Finn  gazed  in  amazement  at  the  colossal 
man,  for  he  h.id  nr-vcr  before  seen  any  one  so  big  and  bulky;  yet 
he  would  have  passed  onward  and  continued  his  route,  but  the 
giant  stopped  and  accosted  him,  and  Finn  was  under  the  necessity 
of  stopping  also,  and  exchanging  a  few  words  with  the  giant. 

The  giant  began  in  this  manner:  "What,  ho!  Finn  Mac 
Coole,"  said  he,  •'  what  desire  for  traveling  is  this  that  has 
seized  on  you,  and  how  far  do  you  mean  to  go  upon  this  jour- 
ney ?" 

"Oh,"  said  Finn,  "as  to  that,  my  trouble  and  anxiety  are  so 
great  that  I  cannot  describe  them  to  you  now,  and  indeed  small 


A   FENIAN   TALE.  Sj 

is  the  use,"  added  he,  "  it  would  be  of  to  me  to  attempt  doing  so; 
and  I  thhik  it  would  be  better  for  you  to  let  me  go  on  my  way 
without  asking  any  more  questions  of  me." 

But  the  giant  was  not  so  easily  put  off.  "  O  Finn,"  said  he, 
"you  may  keep  your  secret  if  you  like,  but  all  the  loss  and  the 
misfortune  attending  your  silence  will  be  your  own;  and  when 
you  think  well  upon  that,  maybe  you  would  not  boggle  any 
longer  about  disclosing  to  me  the  nature  of  your  errand." 

So  Finn,  seeing  the  huge  size  of  the  giant,  and  thinking  it  ad- 
visable not  to  provoke  him,  began  to  tell  him  all  that  had  taken 
place  among  the  Fenians  of  Erinn  so  short  a  time  before.  "  You 
must  know,"  said  he,  «'that  at  the  meridian  hour  of  this  very 
day  the  great  Ironbonc?,  the  son  of  the  King  of  Tliessaly,  landed 
at  the  harbor  of  Bineadar,  with  the  view  of  taking  the  crown  and 
sovereignty  of  Ireland  into  his  own  hands;  and  if  he  does  not  ob- 
tain them  with  the  free  and  good  will  of  the  Irish,  he  threatens 
to  distribute  death  and  destruction  impartially  among  the  young 
and  old  of  our  heroes;  howbeit  he  has  challenged  us  to  find  a  man 
able  to  surpass  him  in  running,  fighting  or  wrestling,  and  if  we 
can  find  such  a  man,  then  he  agrees  to  forego  his  pretensions, 
and  to  return  to  his  own  country  without  giving  us  further  trou- 
ble; and  that,"  said  Finn,  "is  the  history  I  have  for  you." 

"And  how  do  you  intend  to  oppose  the  royal  warrior?" 
asked  the  giant:  "  I  know  him  well,  and  I  know  he  has  the 
vigor  in  his  hand  and  the  strength  in  his  arm  to  carry  every  threat 
he  makes  into  effect." 

"  Why,  tiien, "  said  Finn,  in  answer  to  this,  "  I  intend  to  go  to 
Tara  of  the  Kings  for  Keelte  MacRonan,  and  if  I  do  not  find  hira 
there,  I  will  go  to  look  for  hiraatCeis-Corann  of  the  Fenii;  audit 
is  he,"  said  he,  "whoin  I  mean  to  bring  with  me  for  the  purpose 
of  vanquishing  this  hero  in  running." 

"  Alas  !"  said  the  giant,  "weak  is  your  dependence  and  feeble 
your  champion  for  propping  and  preserving  the  monarchy  of  Ire- 
land; and  if  Keelie  MacRonan  be  your  Tree  of  Defiance, yo\xzx^ 
already  a  man  without  a  country." 

"  It  is  I,  then,"  said  Finn,  "who  am  sorry  you  should  sayso; 
and  what  to  do  in  this  extremity  I  cannot  tell." 


88  THE   ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"I  will  show  you,"  replied  the  gigantic  man:  "just  do  yoa 
say  nothing  at  all,  but  cccept  of  nie  as  the  opponent  of  this  cham- 
pion; audit  may  happen  that  I  shall  be  able  to  get  you  out  of 
your  dLflficulty." 

"Ob,"  said  Finn,  "  for  the  matter  of  that,  it  is  my  ownnotioa 
that  you  have  enough  to  do  if  you  can  carry  your  big  coat  and 
drag  your  shoes  with  you  one  half  mile  of  ground  in  a  day, 
without  trying  to  rival  such  a  hero  as  Ironbones  in  valor  or 
agility." 

"You  may  have  what  notions  you  like,"  returned  the  giant, 
"  but  I  tell  you  that  if  I  am  not  able  to  give  battle  to  this  fighting 
hero,  there  never  has  been  and  there  is  not  now  a  man  in  Ireland 
able  to  cope  with  him.  But  never  mind,  Finn  MacCoola,  let  not 
your  spirits  be  cast  down,  for  I  will  take  it  on  myself  to  deliver 
you  from  the  danger  that  presses  on  you." 
"What  is  your  name?"  demanded  Finn. 
"  Bodach-an-Chota-Lachtna  (the  Churl  with  the  Grey  Coat)  is 
my  name,"  the  giant  answered. 

"  Well,  then, "  said  Finn,  "you  will  do  well  to  come  along 
with  me."  So  Finn  turned  back,  and  the  Bodach  went  with  him; 
but  we  have  no  account  of  their  travels  till  they  reached  Bineadar. 
There,  when  the  Fians  lieheld  the  Bodach  attired  in  such  a  fashion 
and  trim,  they  were  all  very  much  surprised,  for  they  had  never 
before  seen  the  like  of  him;  and  they  were  greatly  overjoyed 
that  ho  should  make  his  appearance  among  them  at  such  a  criti- 
cal moment. 

As  for  Ironbones,  he  came  before  Finn,  and  asked  him  if  he 
had  got  the  man  who  was  to  contend  with  him  in  running.  Finn 
made  answer  that  he  had,  and  that  he  was  present  among  them; 
and  thereupon  he  pointed  out  the  Bodach  to  him.  But  as  soon 
as  Ironbones  saw  the  Bodach,  he  was  seized  with  astonishment, 
and  his  courage  was  damped  at  the  sight  of  the  gigantic  propor- 
tions of  the  mighty  man,  but  he  pretended  to  be  only  very  in- 
dignant, and  exclaimed,  "What !  do  you  expect  me  to  demean 
myself  by  engaging  in  a  contest  with  such  an  ugly,  greasy, 
hateful-looking  Bodach  as  that  ?     It  is  myself  that  will  do  no 


A   FENIAN   TALE.  89 

such  thing  J"  said  he  ;  and  he  stepped  back  and  would  not  go 
near  the  Bodach. 

When  the  Bodach  saw  and  heard  this,  he  burst  into  a  loud, 
hoarse,  thunderous  laugh,  and  said,  "Come,  Ironbones,  this 
will  not  do;  I  am  not  the  sort  of  person  you  affect  to  think  me; 
and  it  is  you  that  shall  have  proof  of  my  assertion  before  to- 
morrow evening;  so  now,  let  me  know,"  said  he,  "  what  is  to  be 
the  length  of  the  course  you  propose  to  run  over,  for  over  the 
same  course  it  is  my  intention  to  run  along  with  you;  and  if  I  do 
not  succeed  in  running  that  distance  with  you,  it  is  a  fair  con- 
clusion that  you  win  the  race,  and  in  like  manner  if  I  do  succeed 
in  outstripping  you,  then  it  stands  to  reason  that  y6u  lose  the 
race." 

'•There  is  sense  and  rationaRty  in  your  language,"  replied 
Ironbones,  for  ho  saw  that  he  must  submit,  "  and  I  agree  to 
what  you  say,  but  it  is  my  wish  not  to  have  the  course  shorter 
or  longer  than  three  score  miles.'' 

"  Well,"  said  the  Bodach,  *'  that  will  answer  me  too,  for  it  is 
just  three  score  miles  from  Mount  Loocra  in  Munster  to  Bineadar; 
and  it  will  be  a  pleasant  run  for  the  pair  of  us;  but  if  you  find 
that  I  am  not  able  to  finish  it  before  you,  of  course  the  victory  is 
yours." 

Ironbones  replied  that  he  would  not  contradict  so  evident  a 
proposition,  whereupon  the  Bodach  resumed:  •*  Wliatit  is  proper 
for  you  to  do  now,"  said  he,  "is  to  come  along  with  me  south- 
ward to  Mount  Loocra  this  evening,  in  order  that  we  may  make 
ourselves  acquainted  with  the  ground  we  are  to  go  over  to-mor- 
row on  our  return;  and  we  can  stop  for  the  night  on  the  Mount, 
so  that  we  may  be  able  to  start  with  the  break  of  day."  To  this 
also  Ironbones  acceded,  saying  it  was  a  judicious  speech,  and 
that  he  had  nothing  to  object  to  it. 

Upon  this  the  two  competitors  commenced  their  journey,  and 
litde  was  the  delay  they  made  till  they  arrived  at  Mount  Loocra 
in  Munster.  As  soon  as  they  had  got  thither,  the  Bodach  again 
addressed  Ironbones,  and  told  him  that  he  thought  their  best 
plan  would  be  to  build  a  hut  in  the  adjoining  wood,  that  so  they 


90  THE   ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

might  be  protected  from  the  inclemency  of  the  night:  "for  it 
seems  to  me,  O  son  of  the  King  of  Thessaly,"  said  he,  "that 
if  we  do  not,  we  are  likely  to  have  a  hard  couch  and  cold  quar- 
ters on  this  exposed  hill." 

To  this  Ironbones  made  reply  as  thus:  "  You  may  do  so,  if 
you  please,  O  Bodach  of  the  Big  Coat,  but  as  for  me,  I  am  Iron- 
bones,  and  care  not  for  dainty  lodging,  and  I  am  mightily  disin- 
clined to  give  myself  the  trouble  of  building  a  house  hereabouts 
only  to  sleep  in  it  one  night  and  never  see  it  again;  howlteit,  if 
you  are  desirous  of  employing  your  hands  there  is  nobody  to 
cross  you;  you  may  build,  and  I  shall  stay  here  until  you  have 
finished." 

"  Very  good,"  said  the  Bodach,  "  and  build  I  will;  but  I  shall 
take  good  care  that  a  certain  person  who  refuses  to  assist  me 
shall  have  no  share  in  my  sleeping-room,  should  I  succeed  in 
making  it  as  comfortable  as  I  hope  to  do;"  and  with  this  he  be- 
took himself  into  the  wood,  and  began  cutting  down  and  shap- 
ing pieces  of  timber  with  the  greatest  expedition,  never  ceasing 
until  he  had  got  together  six  pair  of  stakes  and  as  many  of  raft- 
ers, which,  with  a  sufficient  quantity  of  brushwood  and  green 
rushes  for  thatch,  he  carried,  bound  in  one  load,  to  a  convenient 
spot,  and  there  set  them  up  at  once  in  regular  order;  and  this 
part  of  his  work  being  finished,  he  again  entered  the  wood,  and 
carried  from  thence  a  good  load  of  di-y  green  sticks,  which  he 
kindled  into  a  fire  that  reached  from  the  back  of  the  hut  to  the 
door. 

Wliile  the  fire  was  blazing  merrily  he  left  the  hut,  and  again 
addressing  his  companion,  said  to  him:  "  O  son  of  the  King  of 
Thessaly,  called  by  men  Ironbones,  are  you  provided  with  pro- 
visions for  the  night,  and  have  you  eatables  and  drinkables  to 
keep  you  from  hunger  and  thirst  ?" 

"  No,  I  have  not,"  said  Ironbones  proudly;  "  it  is  myself  that 
used  never  to  be  without  people  to  provide  victuals  for  me  when 
I  wanted  them,"  said  he. 

"Well,  but,"  said  the  Bodach,  "  you  have  not  your  people  near 
you  now,  and  so  the  best  thing  you  can  do  is  to  come  and  bant 


A  ■VEHIAK  TALE.  9I 

with  me  in  the  wood,  and  vAy  hand  to  you,  we  shall  soon  have 
enough  of  victuals  for  both  of  us." 

*'  I  never  practiced  pedestrian  hunting,"  said  Ironbones;  "  and 
with  the  like  of  you  I  never  hunted  at  all,  and  I  don't  think  I 
shall  begin  now,"  said  he,  in  a  very  dignified  sort  of  way. 

"  Then  I  must  try  my  luck  by  myself,"  said  the  Bodach;  and 
off  again  he  bounded  uito  the  wood,  and  after  he  had  gone  a  lit- 
tle way  he  roused  a  herd  of  wild  swine  and  pursued  them  into 
the  recesses  of  the  wood,  and  there  he  succeeded  in  separating 
from  the  rest  the  biggest  and  fattest  hog  of  the  herd,  which  he 
soon  ran  down  and  carried  to  his  hut,  where  he  slaughtered  it, 
and  cut  it  into  two  halves,  one  of  which  he  placed  at  each  side  of 
the  fire  on  a  self-moving  holly-spit.  He  then  darted  out  once 
more,  and  stopped  not  until  he  reached  the  mansion  of  the  Baron 
of  Inchiquin,  which  was  thirty  miles  distant,  from  whence  he 
carried  off  a  table  and  a  chair,  two  barrels  of  wine,  and  all  the 
bread  fit  for  eating  he  could  lay  his  hands  on,  all  of  which  he 
brought  to  Mount  Loocra  in  one  load.  When  he  again  entered 
his  hut,  he  found  his  hog  entirely  roasted  and  in  nice  order  for 
mastication;  so  he  laid  half  the  meat  and  bread  on  the  table,  and 
sitting  down,  disposed  of  them  with  wonderful  alacrity,  drink- 
ing at  the  same  time  precisely  one  barrel  of  the  wine,  and  no 
more,  for  he  reserved  the  other,  as  well  as  the  rest  of  the  solids, 
for  his  breakfast  in  thiJ  morning.  Having  thus  finished  his  sup- 
per, he  shock  a  large  number  of  green  rushes  over  the  floor,  and 
laying  himself  down,  soon  fell  into  a  comfortable  sleep,  which 
lasted  until  the  rising  of  the  sun  next  morning. 

As  soon  as  the  morning  was  come,  Ironbones,  who  had  got 
neither  food  nor  sleep  the  whole  night,  came  down  from  the 
mountain's  side  and  awoke  the  Bodach,  telling  him  that  it  was 
time  to  conunence  their  contest.  The  Bodach  raised  his  head, 
rubbed  his  eyes,  and  replied:  "  I  have  another  hour  to  sleep  yet, 
and  when  I  get  up  I  have  to  eat  half  a  hog  and  drink  a  barrel  of 
wine;  but  as  you  seem  to  be  in  a  hurry,  you  have  my  consent  to 
proceed  on  your  way  before  me;  and  you  may  be  sure  I  will  fol- 
low you."     So  spying,  he  laid  his  head  down  and  fell   again 


g2  THE  ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

a-snoring,  and  upon  seeing  this,  Ironbones  began  the  race  by 
himself,  but  he  moved  along  heavily  and  dispiritedly,  for  he  be- 
gan to  have  great  dread  and  many  misgivings,  by  reason  of  the 
indifference  with  which  the  Bodach  appeared  to  regard  the  issue 
of  the  contest. 

When  the  Bodach  had  slept  his  fill  he  got  up,  washed  his 
hands  and  face,  and  having  placed  his  bread  and  meat  on  the 
table,  he  proceeded  to  devour  them  with  great  expedition,  and 
then  washed  them  down  with  his  barrel  of  wine,  after  which  he 
collected  together  all  the  bones  of  the  hog  and  put  them  into  a 
pocket  in  the  skirt  of  his  coat.  Then  setting  out  on  his  race  in 
company  with  a  pure  and  cool  breeze  of  wind,  he  trotted  on  and 
on,  nor  did  he  ever  halt  in  his  rapid  course  until  he  had  over- 
taken Ironbones,  who,  with  a  dejected  air  and  drooping  head, 
was  wending  his  way  before  him.  The  Bodach  threw  down  the 
bare  bones  of  the  hog  in  his  path,  and  told  him  he  was  quite 
welcome  to  them,  and  that  if  he  could  find  any  pickings  on  them 
he  might  eat  them.  "For,"  said  he,  "  you  must  surely  be  hun- 
gry by  this  time,  and  myself  can  wait  until  you  finish  your 
breakfast." 

But  Ironbones  got  into  a  great  passion  on  hearing  this,  and  he 
cried,  "  You  ugly  Bodach  with  the  Big  Coat,  you  greasy,  lub- 
berly, uncouth  tub  of  a  man,  I  would  see  you  hanged,  so  I 
would,  Ijefore  you  should  catch  me  picking  such  dirty  common 
bones  as  these — hogs'  bones,  that  have  no  meat  on  them  at  all, 
and  have  moreover  been  gnawed  by  your  own  long,  ugly,  bear- 
ish tusks." 

"  Oh,  very  well,"  replied  the  Bodach,  '*  then  we  will  not  have 
any  more  words  about  them  for  bones,  but  let  me  recommend  to 
you  to  adopt  some  more  rapid  mode  of  locomotion,  if  you  desire 
to  gain  the  crown,  sovereignty  and  tribute  of  the  kingdom  of 
Ireland  this  turn,  for  if  you  go  on  at  your  present  rate,  it  is  sec- 
ond best  that  you  will  be  after  coming  off,  I'm  thinking."  And 
having  spoken,  off  he  darted  as  swift  as  a  shadow,  or  a  roebuck, 
or  a  blast  of  wind  rushing  down  a  mountain  declivity  on  a  March 
day,   Ironbones  in  the  mean  time  being  about  as  much  able  to 


A   FENIAN   TALE.  93 

keep  pace  with  him  as  he  was  to  scale  the  firmament;  nor  did  he 
check  his  own  speed  uatil  he  had  proceeded  thirty  miles  o"n  the 
course.  He  then  stopped  for  awhile  to  eat  of  the  blackberries 
which  grew  in  great  abundance  on  the  way,  and  while  he  was 
thus  employed,  Ironbones  came  up  with  him  and  spoke  to  him. 
"  Bodach, "  said  he,  "  ten  miles  behind  us  I  saw  one  skirt  of 
your  gray  coat,  and  ten  miles  further  back  again  I  saw  another 
skirt;  and  it  is  my  persuasion,  and  I  am  clearly  of  the  opinion, 
that  you  ought  to  return  for  those  two  skirts  without  more  to  do, 
and  pick  them  up." 

•'  Is  it  the  skirts  of  this  big  coat  that  I  have  on  me  you  mean  ?" 
asked  the  Bodacli,  looking  down  at  his  legs. 

"VVhy,  to  bfi  sure  it  is  them  that  I  mean,"  answered  Iron- 
bcuies. 

"Well,"  said  the  Bodach,  "I  certainly  must  get  my  coat 
skirts  again,  and  so  I  will  run  back  for  them  if  you  consent  to 
stop  here  ea'dn^  blackberries  until  I  return." 

"What  nonsense  you  talk  !"  cried  Ironbones.  "  I  tell  you  I 
am  decidedly  resolved  not  to  loiter  on  the  race,  and  my  fixed 
determination  is  not  to  eat  any  blackberries." 

"  Then  move  on  before  me,"  said  the  Bodach,  upon  which 
Ironbones  pushed  onward,  while  the  Bodach  retraced  his  steps  to 
the  different  spots  where  the  skirts  of  his  coat  were  lying,  and 
having  found  them  and  tacked  them  to  the  body  of  the  coat,  he 
resumed  his  route  and  again  overtook  Ironbones,  whom  he  thus 
addressed:  "  It  is  needful  and  necessary  that  I  should  acquaint 
you  of  one  thing,  O  Ironbones,  and  that  is  that  you  must  run  at 
a  faster  rate  than  you  have  hitherto  used,  and  keep  pace  with 
me  on  the  rest  of  the  course,  or  else  there  is  much  likelihood  and 
considerable  probability  that  the  victory  will  go  against  you,  be- 
cause I  win  not  again  have  to  go  back  either  for  my  coat-skirts 
or  anything  else;"  and  having  given  his  companion  this  warn- 
ing, ha  set  off  once  more  in  his  usual  manner,  nor  did  he  stop 
until  he  reached  the  side  of  a  hill,  within  ten  miles  of  Bineadar, 
where  he  again  fall  a-plucking  blackberries,  and  ate  an  extraor- 
dinary number  of  them.     When  he  could  eat  no  more,  his  jaws 


94  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

being  tired  and  his  stomach  stuffed,  he  took  off  his  great  coat, 
and  handling  liis  needle  and  thread,  he  sewed  it  into  the  form  of 
a  capacious  sack,  which  he  fUhxi  with  blackberries;  this  he  slung 
over  his  shoulders,  and  then  off  he  scampered  for  Bineadar, 
greatly  refreshed,  and  with  the  speed  of  a  young  buck. 

In  the  mean  time,  Fiiin  and  his  troops  were  awaiting  in  great 
doubt  and  dread  for  the  result  of  the  race,  though,  without 
knowing  who  the  Bodach  was,  they  had  a  certain  degree  of  con- 
fidence in  him;  and  there  was  a  champion  of  the  Fenians  on  the 
top  of  the  Hill  of  Howth,  who  had  been  sent  thither  by  Finn, 
and  had  been  there  from  an  early  hour  of  the  morning  to  see 
wliich  of  the  competitors  would  make  his  appearance  first  in 
view.  When  this  man  s^iw  the  Bodach  coming  over  the  nearest 
eminence,  with  his  heavy  burden  on  hi^  back,  he  thought  that  to 
a  certainty  it  was  Ironbones  whom  he  beheld,  and  fled  back  quite 
terrified  to  Finn  and  the  troops,  telling  them  Ironbones  was  com- 
ing up,  carrying  the  Bodach,  dead,  over  his  slioulders.  This 
news  at  first  depressed  Finn  and  the  troops;  but  Finn  by  and  by 
exclaimed,  "I  will  give  a  suit  of  ai'mor  and  arms  to  the  man  who 
brings  me  better  news  than  that !"  whereupon  one  of  the  heroes 
went  forth,  and  he  had  not  proceeded  far  when  he  espied  the 
Bodach  advancing  tcr.vard  the  outposts  of  the  troops,  and  know- 
ing him  at  a  glance,  he  flew  back  to  Finn  and  announced  to  him 
the  glad  tidings. 

Finn  thereupon  went  joyfull5'  out  to  meet  the  Bodach,  who 
speedily  came  up  and  threw  down  his  burden,  crying  out  aloud, 
"I  have  good  and  famous  news  for  all  of  you;  but,"  added  he, 
"  my  hunger  is  great,  and  my  desire  for  food  pressmg;  and  lean- 
not  tell  you  what  has  occurred  until  I  have  eaten  a  very  large 
quantity  of  oatmeal  and  blackberries.  Now,  as  for  the  latter, 
that  is,  the  blackberries,  I  have  got  them  myself  in  this  big  sack, 
but  the  oatmeal  I  expect  to  be  provided  for  me  by  you;  and  I 
hope  that  you  will  lose  no  time  in  getting  it,  and  laying  it  be- 
fore me,  for  I  ana  weak  for  the  want  of  nutriment,  and  my  cor- 
poreal powers  are  beginning  to  be  exhausted."  Upon  hearing 
UiJ3  Finn  rc,ilicdvthat  his  request  should  be  at  once  attended  to. 


A    FENIAN    TALE.  95 

and'in  a  little  space  of  time,  accordingly,  there  was  spread  under 
the  Bodach  a  cloth  of  great  length  and  breadth,  with  a  vast  heap 
of  oatmeal  in  the  middle  of  it,  into  which  the  Bodach  emptied 
out  all  the  blackberries  in  his  bag;  and  havnig  stirred  the  entire 
mass  about  for  some  time  with  a  long  pole,  he  commenced  eating 
and  swallowing  with  much  vigor  and  determination. 

He  had  not  long  been  occupied  in  this  way  before  he  descried 
Ironbones  coming  towards  the  troops  with  h's  hand  on  the  hilt 
of  his  sword,  his  eyes  flaming  like  red  coals  in  his  head,  and 
ready  to  commence  slaughtering  all  before  him  because  he  had 
been  vanquished  in  the  contest.  But  he  was  not  fated  to  put  his 
designs  into  execution,  for  when  the  Bodach  saw  what  wicked- 
ness he  had  in  his  mind,  he  took  up  a  handful  of  the  oatmeal  and 
blackberries,  and  dashing  it  towards  Ironbones  with  an  unerring 
aim,  it  struck  him  so  violently  upon  his  face  that  it  sent  his  head 
spinning  througii  the  air  half  a  mile  from  his  body,  which  fell  to 
the  ground  and  there  remained  writhing  in  all  the  agonies  of  its 
recent  separation,  until  the  Bodach  had  concluded  his  meal. 
The  Bodach  then  rose  up  and  went  in  quest  of  the  head,  which, 
after  a  little  searching  about,  he  found;  and  casting  it  from  his 
hands  with  an  unsrring  aim,  he  sent  it  bowling  along  the  ground 
all  the  half  mile  back  again,  until  coming  to  the  body  it  stopped 
and  fastened  itself  on  as  well  as  ever,  the  only  difference  being 
that  the  face  was  now  turned  completely  round  to  the  back  of  the 
neck,  while  the  back  of  the  head  was  in  front. 

The  Bodach  having  accomplished  this  feat  much  to  his  satis- 
faction, now  grasped  Ironbones  finnly  by  the  middle,  threw  him 
to  the  ground,  tied  him  hand  and  foot  so  that  he  could  not  stir, 
and  addressed  him  in  these  words:  "  O  Ironbones,  justice  has 
overtaken  yon;  the  sentence  your  own  vain  mind  had  passed  on 
others  is  about  to  be  pronounced  against  yourself;  and  all  the 
liberty  that  I  feel  disposed  to  leave  you  is  the  liberty  of  choosing 
what  kind  of  death  you  think  it  most  agreeable  to  die  of.  What 
a  silly  notion  you  did  get  into  your  noddle,  surely,  when  you 
fancied  that  you,  single-handed,  could  make  yourself  master  of 
the  crown,    sovereignty,  and  tributes  of  Ireland,  even  though 


g6  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

there  had  been  nobody  to  thwart  your  arrogant  designs  but  my- 
self! But  take  comfort  and  \x  consoled,  for  it  shall  never  be  said 
of  the  Fians  of  Ireland  that  they  took  mortal  vengeance  on  a 
single  foe  without  any  warriors  to  back  him;  and  if  you  be  a  per- 
son to  whom  life  is  a  desirable  possession,  I  am  willing  to  allow 
you  to  live,  on  condition  that  you  will  solemnly  swear  by  the 
son  and  moon  that  you  will  send  the  chief  tributes  of  Thessaly 
every  year  to  Finn  MacCoole  here  in  Ireland." 

With  many  wry  faces  did  Ironboncs  at  length  agree  to  take 
this  oath;  upon  which  the  Bodach  loosed  his  shackles  and  gave 
him  liberty  to  stand  up;  then  having  conducted  him  towards  the 
seashore,  he  made  him  go  into  the  ship,  to  which,  after  turning 
its  prow  from  the  shore,  he  administered  a  kick  in  the  stem, 
which  sent  it  seven  miles  over  the  waters  at  once.  And  such  was 
the  manner  in  which  Ironbones  executed  his  vainglorious  project, 
and  iirthis  way  it  was  that  he  was  sent  off  from  the  shores  of  Ire- 
land, without  victory,  honor  or  glory,  and  deprived  of  I  he  power 
of  evef  again  boasting  himself  to  be  the  first  man  on  the  earth 
in  battlb  or  combat. 

But  on  the  return  of  the  Bodach  to  the  troops,  the  sun  and  the 
wind  light&S  up  one  side  of  his  face  and  his  head  in  such  a  way 
that  Fin  and  the  Fians  at  once  recognized  him  as  Manannan  Mac 
Lir,  the  Tutelary  Faiiy  of  Cruachan,  who  had  come  to  afford 
them  his  assistiuice  in  their  exigency.  They  welcomed  him  ac- 
cordingly with  all  the  honor  that  was  due  to  him,  and  feasted 
him  sumptuously  for  a  year  and  a  day.  And  these  are  the  ad- 
ventures of  the  Bodach-an-Chota-Lachtna. 


HANDY    ANDY  S    LITTLE    MISTAKES.  97 


HANDY  ANDY'S  LITTLE  MISTAKES. 


When  Handy  Andy  grew  up  to  be  "a  brave  lump  of  a  boy," 
his  mother  thought  he  was  old  enough  to  do  something  for  him- 
self, so  she  took  him  one  day  along  with  her  to  the  Squire's,  and 
waited  outside  the  door  until  chance  might  give  her  "a  sight  of 
the  Squire  afore  he  wint  out  or  afore  he  wint  in,"  and  after 
spending  her  entire  day  in  this  idle  way  at  last  the  Squire  made 
his  appearance,  and  Judy  presented  her  son,  who  kept  scraping 
his  foot,  and  pulling  his  forelock,  that  stuck  out  like  a  piece  of 
ragged  thatch  from  his  forehead,  making  his  obeisance  to  the 
Squire,  while  his  mother  was  sounding  his  praises  for  "  bein'  the 
handiest  crayture  alive — an'  so  williu' — nothin'  comes  wrong  to 
him." 

"  1  suppose  the  English  of  all  this  is,  you  want  me  to  take 
him,"  said  the  Squire. 

"  Throth,  an'  yer  honor,  that's  just  it — if  your  honor  would  be 
plased." 

"  What  can  he  do  ?" 

"  Anything,  your  honor." 

"  Thai  means  twthing,  I  suppose,"  said  the  Squire. 

"Oh,  no,  sir.  Everything,  I  mane,  that  you  would  desire 
to  do." 

"  Can  he  take  care  of  horses  ?" 

"  The  best  of  care  sir,"  said  the  mother,  while  the  miller,  who 
was  standing  behind  the  Squire,  waiting  for  orders,  made  a  grim- 
ace at  Andy,  who  was  obliged  to  cram  his  face  into  his  hat  to 
hide  the  laugh,  which  he  could  hardly  smother  from  l^eiag  heard 
as  well  as  seen. 


98  THE   ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"Let  him  come,  then,  and  help  in  the  stables,  and  we'll  see 
what  we  can  do." 

"May  the  Lord—" 

"That'll  do — there  now,  go." 

"Oh,  sure,  but  I'll  pray  for  you,  and — " 

"Will  you  go?" 

"And  may  the  angels  make  your  honor's  bed  this  blessed 
night,  I  pray." 

"  If  you  don't  go,  your  son  shan't  come." 

Judy  and  her  hopeful  son  turned  to  the  right  about  in  doable, 
quick  time,  and  hurried  down  the  avenue. 

The  next  day  Andy  was  duly  installed  into  his  office  of  stable- 
keeper;  and,  as  he  was  a  good  rider,  he  was  soon  made  whipp>er- 
in  to  the  hounds,  and  Andy's  boldness  in  this  capacity  soon  made 
him  a  favorite  with  the  Squire,  who  scorned  the  attentions  of  a 
valet,  and  let  any  one  that  chance  threw  in  his  way  bring  his 
boots,  or  his  hot  water  for  shaving,  or  his  coat  whenever  it  was 
brushed.  One  morning,  Andy,  who  was  very  often  the  attend- 
ant on  such  occasions  came  to  his  room  with  hot  water.  He 
tapped  at  the  door. 

"  Who's  that  ?"  said  the  Squire,  who  had  just  risen. 

"It's  me,  sir." 

"Oh — Andy,  come  in." 

"  Here's  the  hot  water,  sir,"  said  Andy,  bearing  an  enormous 
tin  can. 

"  \Miy,  what  the  deuce  brings  that  tin  can  here  ?  You  might 
as  well  bring  the  stable  bucket." 

"I  beg  you  pardon,  sir,"  said  Andy,  retreating. 
In  two  minutes  more  Andy  came  back,  and  tapping  at  the 
door,  put  in  his  head  cautiously,  and  said   "The    maids  in  the 
kitchen,  your  honor,  says  there's  not  so  much  hot  wather  ready." 

" Did  I  not  see  it  a  moment  since  in  your  hand?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  but  that's  not  nigh  the  full  o'  the  shtable-bucket." 

"  Go  along,  you  stupid  thief!  and  get  me  some  hot  water  di- 
rectly." 

"Will  the  can  do,  sir?" 


HANDY   AKDy's    LITTLE    MISTAKES.  99 

"Aye,  anything,  so  make  haste." 

Off  posted  Andy,  and  back  he  came  with  the  can. 

"Where'll  I  put  it,  sir?" 

"Throw  this  out,"  said  the  Squire,  handing  Andy  a  jug  con- 
taining some  cold  water,  meaning  the  jug  to  be  replenished  with 
the  hot. 

Andy  took  the  jug,  and  the  window  of  the  room  being  open, 
he  very  deliberately  threw  the  jug  out.  The  Squire  stared  with 
wonder,  and  at  last  said: 

"What  did  you  do  that  for?" 

"  Sure  you  towld  me  to  thi-ow  it  out,  sir." 

"Go  out  of  this,  you  thick-headed  villain  !"  said  the  Squire, 
throwing  his  boots  at  Andy's  head,  along  with  some  very  neat 
curses.  Andy  retreated,  and  thought  himself  a  very  ill-used 
person. 

Though  Andy's  regular  duty  was  "whipper-in,"  yet  he  was 
liable  to  be  called  on  to  attend  at  table,  when  the  number  of 
guests  required  that  all  the  subs,  should  be  put  in  requisition,  or 
rode  on  some  distant  errand  for  the  "  mistress,"  or  drove  out  the 
nurse  and  children  on  the  jaunting  car,  and  many  were  the  mis- 
takes, delays  or  accidents  that  occurred. 

The  first  time  Andy  was  admitted  into  the  mysteries  of  the 
dining-room,  great  was  his  wonder.  The  butler  took  him  in  to 
give  him  some  previous  instructions,  and  Andy  was  so  astonished 
at  the  sight  of  the  assembled  glass  and  plate,  that  he  stood  with 
his  mouth  and  eyes  wide  open,  and  scarcely  heard  a  word  that 
was  said  to  him.  After  the  head  man  had  been  dinning  his  in- 
structions  into  him  for  some  time,  he  said  he  might  go  until  his 
attendance  was  required.  But  Andy  moved  not;  he  stood  with 
his  eyes  fixed  by  a  sort  of  fascination  on  some  object  that  seemed 
to  rivet  them  with  the  same  unaccountable  influence  which  the 
rattlesnake  exercises  over  its  victim. 

"  Wliat  are  you  looking  at  ?"  said  the  butler. 

"  Them  things,  sir,"  said  Andy,  pointing  to  some  silver  forks. 

**\Vhat  tilings  do  you  mean  ?" 

"These  things,  sir,"  said  Andy,  taking  up  one  of  the  silver 


lOO  THE   ZOZIHUS   PAPERS. 

forks,  and  turning  it  round  and  round  in  his  hand  in  utter  aston- 
ishment, while  the  butler  grinned  at  his  ignorance,  and  enjoyed 
his  own  superior  laiowledge. 

"Well,"  said  Andy,  after  a  long  pause,  "  the  devil  be  from 
me  if  ever  I  seen  a  silver  spoon  split  that  way  before." 

The  butler  gave  a  hoarse  laugh,  and  made  a  standing  joke  of  An- 
dy's splitspcon ;  but  time  and  experience  made  Andy  less  impressed 
with  wonder  at  the  show  of  plate  and  glass,  and  the  split  spoons 
became  familiar  as  "  household  words  "  to  him;  yet  still  there 
were  things  in  the  duties  of  table  attendance  beyond  Andy's  com- 
prehension— he  used  to  hand  cold  plates  for  fish,  and  hot  plates 
for  jelly,  etc.  But  "one  day,"  as  Zanga  says,  "one  day  "  lie 
was  thrown  off  his  centre  in  a  remarkable  degree  by  a  bottle  of 
soda-water. 

It  was  when  that  combustible  was  first  introduced  into  Ireland 
as  a  dinner  beverage  that  the  occurrence  took  place,  and  Andy 
had  the  luck  to  be  the  person  to  whom  a  gentleman  applied  for 
some  soda-water. 

"Sir,"  said  Andy. 

"  Soda-water,"  said  the  guest,  in  that  subdued  tone  in  which 
people  are  apt  to  name  their  wants  at  the  dinner-table. 

Andy  went  to  the  butler.  "Mr.  Morgan,  there's  a  gintle- 
man — " 

"Let  me  alone,  will  you?"    said  Mr.  Morg.an. 

Andy  manceuvred  round  him  a  little  longer,  and  again  essayed 
to  be  heard.     "  Mr.  Morgan—" 

"Don't  you  see  I'm  as  busy  as  I  can  be?  Can't  you  do  it 
yourself?" 

"I  dunna  what  he  wants." 

"Well,  go  an'  ax  him,"  said  Mr.  Morgan. 

Andy  went  off  as  he  was  bidden,  and  came  behind  the  thirsty 
gentleman's  chair,  with  "  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir." 

"Well,"  said  the  gentleman. 

"  I  Ijeg  your  pardon,  sir,  but  what^s  this  you  axed  me  for  ?" 

"  Soda-water !" 

"What,  sir?" 


HANDY   ANDYS    LITTLE    MISTAKES.  lOl 

•'  9oda-^ater;  but  perhaps  you  have  not  any." 

*•  Oh,  there's  plenty  in  the  house,  sir.  Would  you  like  it  hot, 
sir?" 

The  gentleman  laughed,  and  supposing  the  new  fashion  was 
not  understood  in  the  present  company,  said:   "  Never  mind." 

But  Andy  was  too  anxious  to  please  to  be  so  satisfied,  and 
again  applied  to  Mr.  Morgan. 

"  Sir  !"  said  he. 

"Bad  luck  from  you  !     Can't  you  let  me  alone  ?" 

"There's  a  gintleman  wants  some  soap  and  wather." 

"Somewhat?" 

"Soap  and  wather,  sir." 

"  The  sorrow  sweep  you  !  soda-water,  you  mane.  You'll  get 
it  imder  the  sideboard." 

"  Is  it  in  the  can,  sir  ?" 

"  No,  you  dhunderhead  !  in  the  bottles." 

"Is  this  it,  sir?"  said  Andy,  producing  a  bottle  of  ale. 

"  No,  bad  cess  to  you  !  the  little  bottles." 

"  Is  it  the  little  bottles  with  no  bottoms,  sir  ?" 

"  I  ■wish. foie  wor  in  the  bottom  o'  the  say,"  said  Mr.  Morgan, 
who  was  fuming  and  puffing,  and  rubbing  down  his  face  with  a 
napkin  as  he  was  hurrying  to  all  quarters  of  the  room,  or,  as 
Andy  said  in  praising  his  activity,  that  he  was  "  like  bad  luck, 
everywhere." 

"  There  they  are,"  said  Mr.  Morgan  at  last. 

"  Oh,  them  bottles  that  wont  stand,"  said  Andy,  "  sure  them's 
what  I  said,  with  no  bottoms  to  them.  How'U  I  open  it?  It's 
tied  down." 

"Cut  the  cord,  you  fool." 

Andy  did  as  he  was  desired;  and  he  happened  at  the  time  to 
hold  the  bottle  of  soda-water  on  a  level  with  the  candles  that 
shed  light  over  the  festive  board  from  a  large  silver  branch,  and 
the  moment  he  made  the  incision,  bang  went  the  bottle  of  soda- 
water,  knocking  out  two  of  the  lights  with  the  projected  cork, 
which,  performing  its  parabola  the  length  of  the  room,  struck  the 
Squire  himself  in  the  eye  at  the  foot  of  the  table;  while  th«  hos- 


I02  THE    ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

tess  at  the  head  had  a  cold  bath  down  her  back.  Andy,  when 
he  saw  the  soJa- water  jumping  out  of  the  bottle,  held  it  from 
him  at  arm's  length;  every  fizz  it  made  exclaiming,  "  Ow  t — ow 
— ow !"  and,  at  last,  when  the  bottle  was  empty,  he  roared  out, 
"  Oh,  Lord  !— it's  all  gone  !" 

Great  was  the  commotion;  few  could  resist  laughter,  except 
the  ladies,  -who  all  looked  at  their  gowns,  not  liking  the  mixture 
of  satin  aad  soda- water.  The  extinguished  candles  were  re- 
lighted— the  Squire  got  his  eye  open  again;  and  the  next  time  he 
perceived  the  butler  sufficiently  near  to  speak  to  him,  he  said  in 
a  low  and  huried  tone  of  deep  anger,  "  Send  that  fellow  out  of 
the  room,"  but,  within  the  same  instant,  resumed  his  former 
smile,  that  beamed  on  all  around  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened. 

Andy  was  expelled  the  salle  a  manger,  and  when  the  butler 
held  up  Andy's  ignorance  to  ridicule,  by  telling  how  he  asked 
for  "  soap  and  wather,"  he  was  given  the  name  of  "  suds,"  and 
was  called  by  no  other  for  months  after. 

Even  in  his  outdoor  functions,  Andy's  evil  genius  haunted 
him,  and  he  put  his  foot  in  a  piece  of  business  which  was  so 
simple  as  to  defy  almost  the  chance  of  Andy  making  any  mis- 
take about  it;  but  Andy  was  very  ingenious  in  his  own  particu- 
lar line. 

"  Ride  into  the  town  and  see  if  there's  a  letter  for  me,"  said 
the  Squire  one  day  to  our  hero. 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  You  know  where  to  go  ?" 

"To  the  town,  sir." 

"  But  do  you  know  where  to  go  in  the  town?'* 

♦'No,  sir." 

"  And  why  don't  you  ask,  you  stupid  thief?" 

"Sure  I'd  find  out,  sir." 

"  Didn't  I  often  tell  you  to  ask  wliat  you're  to  do,  when  you 
don't  know  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And  why  don't  you  ?" 


HANDY   ANDY'S    LITTLE    MISTAKES.  IO3 

•'  I  don^t  like  to  be  throublesome,  sir. " 

"  Confound  you,"  said  the  Squire. 

"  Well,"  continued  he,  "  go  to  the  post-office.  You  know  the 
post-office,  I  suppose  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,  where  they  sell  gun-powdher. " 

"You're  right  for  once.  Go  then  to  the  post-office  and  ask  for 
a  letter  for  me.     Remember — not  gunpowder,  but  a  letter." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Andy,  who  got  astride  of  his  hack,  and  trot- 
ted away  to  the  post-office.  On  arriving  at  the  shop  of  the  post- 
master (for  that  person  carried  on  a  brisk  trade  in  groceries,  etc.), 
Andy  preseuted  himself  at  the  counter  and  said,  "  I  want  a  letther, 
if  you  plaze." 

"Who  do  you  want  it  for?"  said  the  postmaster,  in  a  tone 
which  Andy  considered  an  aggression  upon  the  sacredness  of  pri- 
vate  life;  so  Andy,  in  contempt  of  the  prying  impertinence  of  the 
postmaster,  repeated  his  question. 

"I  want  a  letther,  sir,  if  you  plaze." 

"  And  who  do  you  want  it  for  ?"  repeated  the  postmaster. 

"What's  that  to  you?"  said  Andy. 

The  postmaster  told  him  he  could  not  give  him  a  letter  till  he 
gave  the  direction. 

"  The  directions  I  got  was  to  get  a  letther  here;  that'sthe  direc- 
tions." 

"Who  gave  you  those  directions?" 

"The  masther." 

"  And  who's  your  master?" 

"  What  consam  is  that  of  yours  ?" 

"Why,  you  stupid  rascal,  if  you  don't  tell  me  his  name  how  can 
I  give  you  a  letther?" 

"  You  could  give  it  if  you  liked ;  but  you're  fond  of  axin'  im- 
pident  questions,  bekase  you  think  I'm  simple." 

"  Go  along  out  o'  this !  Your  master  must  be  as  great  a  goose 
as  yourself  to  send  such  a  messenger." 

"  Bad  cess  to  your  impidence,"  said  Andy,  "  is  it  Squire  Egan 
you  dare  say  goose  to?" 

"Oh,  Squire  Egan's  your  master,  then?" 


I04  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

**  Yes  ;  have  you  anything  to  say  agin  it  ?" 

♦'  Only  that  I  never  saw  you  before." 

•'Faith,  thin,  you'll  never  see  me  again,  if  I  have  meowncon- 
sdnt." 

"I  won't  give  you  any  letter  for  the  Squire,  unless  I  know 
you're  his  servant.     Is  there  any  one  in  town  knows  you  ?" 

"Plinty.  It's  not  every  one  is  as  ignorant  as  you."  Just  at 
this  moment  a  person  to  whom  Andy  was  known  came  in,  and 
vouched  to  the  postmaster  that  he  might  give  Andy  the  letter. 

"  Have  you  one  for  me  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  the  postmaster,  producing  one — "four- 
pence."  The  gentleman  paid  the  four-pence  postage,  and  left 
the  shop  with  his  letter. 

"  Here's  a  letter  for  the  Squire,"  said  the  postmaster;  "  you've 
to  pay  me  eleven -pence  postage. ' ' 

"What  ud  I  pay  eleven-pence  for?" 

"For  postage." 

"  To  the  puck  wid  you.  Didn't  I  see  you  give  Mr.  Dunphy  a 
letther  for  four-pence  this  minit,  and  a  bigger  letther  than  this  ? 
and  now  you  want  me  to  pay  eleven-pence  for  this  scrap  of  a 
thing.     Do  you  think  I'm  a  fool  ?" 

"No,  but  I'm  sure  of  it,"  said  the  postmaster. 

"Well,  you're  welkum  to  be  sure,  sir — but  don't  be  delayin' 
me  now;  here's  four-pence  for  you,  and  gi'  me  the  letther." 

"  Go  along,  you  stupid  thief,"  said  the  postmaster,  taking  up 
the  letter  and  going  to  serve  a  customer  with  a  mouse-trap. 

Meanwhile  Andy  lounged  up  and  down  the  shop,  every  now 
and  then  saying,  "Will  ye  gi'  me  the  letther?" 

He  waited  over  half  an  hour,  and  left,  when  he  found  it  impos- 
sible to  get  common  justice  for  his  master.  The  Squire  in  the 
mean  time  was  getting  impatient  for  his  return,  and  when  Andy 
made  his  appearance,  asked  if  there  was  a  letter  for  him. 

"There  is,  sir,"  said  Andy. 

"  Then  give  it  to  me." 

"I  haven't  it,  sir." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"  He  wouldn't  give  it  to  me." 

"  Who  wouldn't  give  it  to  you  ?" 


HANDY   ANDV'S    LITTLE    MISTAKES,  IO5 

"Thatould  chate  beyant  in  the  town — wantin'  to  charge 
double  for  it." 

"Maybe  it's  a  douMe  letter.  WTiy  didn't  you  pay  what  he 
asked,  sir?" 

"  Arrah,  sir,  why  would  I  let  you  be  chated  ?  It's  not  a  double 
letther  at  all ;  not  above  half  the  size  o'  one  Mr.  Dunphy  got 
before  my  face  for  four-pence  apiece." 

"Go  back,  you  scoundrel!  or  I'll  horsewhip  you;  and  if 
you're  longer  than  an  hour  I'll  have  you  ducked  in  the  horse- 
pond." 

Andy  vanished  and  made  a  second  visit  to  the  post-office. 
When  he  arrived  two  other  persons  were  getting  letters,  and  the 
postmaster  was  selecting  the  epistles  for  each  from  a  large  par- 
cel; at  the  same  time  many  shop  customers  were  waiting  to  be 
served. 

•Tm  come  for  that  letther,"  said  Andy. 
'*  I'll  attend  to  you  by  and  by." 
"The  masther's  in  a  hurry." 
"Let  him  wait  till  his  hurry's  over." 
"  He'll  murther  me  if  I'm  not  back  soon." 
"I'm  glad  to  hear  it." 

Meanwhile  Andy's  eye  caught  the  heap  of  letters  which  lay  on 
the  counter;  so  while  certain  weighing  of  soap  and  tobacco  was 
going  forward,  he  contrived  to  become  possessed  of  two  letters 
from  the  heap,  and,  having  effected  that,  waited  patiently  enough 
till  it  was  the  great  man's  pleasure  to  give  him  the  missive 
directed  to  his  master. 

Then  did  Andy  bestride  his  hack,  and,  in  triumph  at  his  trick 
on  the  postmaster,  rattled  along  the  road  homewards,  as  fast  as 
the  beast  could  carry  him.  He  came  into  the  Squire's  presence, 
his  face  beiming  with  delight,  and  an  air  of  self-satisfied  superi- 
ority in  bis  manner,  quite  unaccountable  to  his  master,  until  he 
pulled  forth  his  hand,  which  had  been  grubbing  up  his  prizes 
from  the  bottom  of  his  pocket,  and  holding  three  letters  over  his 
head,  while  he  said,  "Look  at  that!"  he  next  slapped  them 
down  under  his  broad  fist  on  the  table  before  the  Squire,  exclaim- 
ing, "Well !  if  he  did  make  me  pay  eleven-pence,  by  gor,  I 
broaght  your  honor  the  worth  o'  your  money,  anyhow." 


I06  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 


PUSS  IN  BROGUES. 


At  the  foot  of  a  hill,  in  a  lonely  district  of  the  County  Cork 
about  a  dozen  miles  from  my  native  village,  there  lived,  in  old 
times,  a  poor  man  named  Larry  Roche.  He  was,  they  say,  de- 
scended from  that  family  of  the  Roches  once  so  mighty  in  the 
south  of  Ireland,  and  some  branches  of  which  still  retain  a  con- 
siderable degree  of  their  former  consequence  and  respectability. 
Poor  Larry,  however,  although  the  blood  of  kings  might  flow 
through  his  veins,  was  neither  rich  nor  respectable.  Yet  Larry 
was  not  discontented  with  his  situation  ;  and,  although  some- 
times he  might  feel  disposed  to  envy  those  on  whom  fortune 
smiled,  yet,  on  cool  reflection,  he  would  console  himself  with  the 
consideration  that  it  was  not  every  one  was  bom  with  a  silver 
spoon  in  his  mouth.  Thus  rolled  away  Larry's  days  in  poverty 
and  contentment.  In  the  shooting  season  his  time  was  occupied 
in  following  his  master  over  heath  and  hillock  with  his  game- 
bag  on  his  shoulder,  while  the  rest  of  his  time  was  spent  in 
chatting  with  the  crones  of  the  vicinity  about  his  family  connec- 
tions, or  the  fairies  of  Glendharig,  or  squabbling  with  his  good 
woman  and  her  young  one.-j ;  for  Larry  was  married,  and  as  his 
wife  was  exactly  a  counterpart  of  himself,  every  hour  of  course 
gave  fresh  cause  for  that  bickering  and  disagreement  so  often  the 
result  of  untimely  and  ill-assorted  marriages. 

The  only  domestic  animal  in  or  about  Larry  Roche's  cabin  was 
a  ferocious-looking  old  black  tom-cat,  far  bigger  and  stronger 
than  any  cat  ever  seen  in  that  part  of  the  country.  His  fur  was 
black,  he  had  strong  whiskers,  his  nails  were  like  a  tiger's,  and 
at  the  end  cf  his  tail  was  fixed  a  claw  or  "gafl"  as  sharp  and 
hooked  as  a  falcon 's  beak ;  his  eyes  also  flashed  by  night  with  aa 


PUSS    IN    BROGUES.  I07 

appalling  glare,  and  his  cry  was  a  savage  howl,  baffling  all  de- 
scription, and  unlike  any  sound  ever  heard  from  any  other  ani- 
mal. He  was  as  singular  in  his  habits,  too,  as  in  his  appearance. 
Me  was  never  known  to  demand  a  morsel  of  food;  and  if  offered 
any,  he  would  reject  it  with  indignation.  Every  evening  at  twi- 
light he  left  the  fireside,  and  spent  the  night  scouring  over  moor 
and  heather,  aild  at  daybreak  would  retuna  from  his  foray,  gain- 
ing access  tluough  the  low  chimney  of  the  cabin,  and  be  found 
in  the  morning  in  his  usual  position  on  the  hob-stone.  There  he 
would  sit  fro:n  morning  till  night;  and  when  Larry  and  Betty 
and  the  "  chlldre  "  were  chatting  in  a  group  around  the  fire,  the 
cat  would  watch  them  intently,  and  if  the  fiature  of  their  conver- 
sation was  such  as  to  excite  laughter  or  merriment,  he  would 
growl  in  a  low  tone,  evidently  dissatisfied;  but  if  their  dialogues 
were  held  in  a  jarring,  angry  strain,  as  sometimes  happened,  he 
would  purr  Ir.^arsely  and  loudly,  whilst  the  wagging  of  his  tail 
testified  the  pleasure  he  felt  in  their  feuds  and  dissensions.  The 
family  had  often  been  advised  to  make  away  with  him,  but  super- 
stitious awe  or  family  prejudice  prevented  them;  and  although 
the  v>i?,ole  neighborhood  averred  that  "he  was  no  right  thing," 
yet  IDT  the  reasons  I  have  stated  his  owners  could  never  be  in- 
duced to  make  any  attempt  to  banish  or  destroy  him. 

One  dreary  evening  in  October,  Larry  returned  from  his  day's 
wandering  with  the  squire  over  the  bleak  bogs,  and  although  it 
mined,  and  the  wind  blew  bitterly,  he  appeared  in  much  better 
spirits  than  was  usual  with  him  on  similar  occasions.  His  wife 
wondered,  and  made  more  than  usual  preparations  to  please 
him.  She  trimmed  the  fire,  and  assisted  him  in  taking  off  his 
dripping  clothes,  and  then  commenced  pouring  out  her  sympathy 
for  his  sufferings. 

*'  Oh,  never  mind,"  said  Larry,  "  I  have  good  news." 
"  Arrah,  sit  down,"  said  Betty,  "and  tell  us  what  it  is." 
Larry  sat  down,  and  putting  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  pulled  out 
a  glittering  gold  coin. 

"Arrah,  Larry,  avoumeen,  what's  that?"  asked   the  woman. 
*'Faith,  it's  a  rale  yellow  boy;  a  good  goold  guinea,"  replied 


Io8  THE    ZOZrMUS    PAPERS. 

Larry.     *'  The  squire  gev  it  to  me,  and  tould  me  to  buy  a  pair 
of  brogucQ  with  it,  and  drink  his  health  with  the  balance." 

"Och,  musha  !  then,  long  life  to  him,"  vociferated  Betty; 
"and,  Lari^y,  a-hagur,  will  you  buy  the  brogues?" 

"  F;','x  and  I  will,"  said  Larry,  "  and  another  rattling  pair  for 
youi'scif,  a-chorfa." 

"Ay,  daddy,  and  another  pair  for  me,"  shouted  young  Larry. 
"And  another  for  me,"  cried  Thady. 
"And  another  for  me,"  chuckled  Charley. 
"  Ay,  and  two  pair  for  me,"  cried  the  black  cat,  speaking  in  a 
wild,  uneartlily  tone  from  the  hob-stone,  and  breaking  forth  into 
a  horrible  laugh. 

"  The  sorrow  knock  the  daylights  out  of  yez  all,"  cried  Larry, 
without  seeming  to  take  any  notice  of  the  strange  circumstance, 
though  his  heart  died  within  him  with  terror  and  surprise. 

"  Lord  have  mercy  on  us!"  faintly  ejaculated  Betty,  signing 
her  brow,  whilst  aH  the  children  started  up  in  terror,  and  ran  be- 
hind their  parents  in  the  chimney-corner. 

All  this  time  the  cat  remained  silent  on  the  hob;  but  his  aspect, 
at  all  times  terrible,  now  seemed  perfectly  monstrous  and  hideous. 
For  some  time  a  death-like  silence  was  preserved,  but  at  last 
Larry  plucked  up  courage  to  address  the  speaking  animal. 

"  Li  the  name  of  God,"  he  began,  "  what  business  have  you 
with  brogues?" 

"  Ask  me  no  questions,"  replied  the  cat,  "but  get  me  the 
brogues  as  soon  as  possible." 

"Oh,  by  all  means,"  replied  Larry,  quite  gently,  "you  must 
have  them;  and  why  did  you  not  ask  them  long  ago,  and  you 
should  have  got  them?" 

"My  time  was  not  come,"  replied  Puss,  briefly. 
"  Well,"  resumed  Larry,   "  to-morrow  is  Sunday,  and  at  day- 
break I  will  start  off  to  my  gossip,  Phadruig  Donovan's,  in  Mill 
Street,  to  engage  the  brogues;  he  is  the  best  brogueniaker  in  the 
county,  and  he's  my  first  gossip  besides." 

"  I  know  all  that,"  said  the  cat,  as  he  leaped  up  the  cliimney, 
on  his  departure  to  the  scene  of  his  midnight  wanderings.     "  Good 


PUSS   IN   BROGUES.  IO9 

night,  Larry,  and  don't  forget  your  engagement ;"  and  he  disap- 
peared through  the  gathering  gloom,  to  the  great  relief  of  poor 
Larry  and  his  terrified  family. 

That  was  a  sad  and  uneasy  night  with  poor  Larry  and  his  wife 
and  children.  They  did  not  go  to  bed  at  all,  but  sat  trembling 
at  the  fire,  expecting  every  moment  that  the  black  imp  would  re- 
turn with  legions  of  fiends  to  carry  them  away,  body  and  bones, 
to  the  regions  below.  Numerous  were  the  plans  proposed  for 
getting  rid  of  their  old  companion,  but  all  were  rejected — some  as 
inefficient,  others  as  impracticable  ;  and  the  only  point  on  which 
they  could  finally  agree,  was,  that  their  days  were  numbered, 
and  that  perhaps  before  morning  their  blood  would  be  streaming 
on  the  hearth-stone,  and  their  souls  wandering  through  mire  and 
morass,  the  prey  of  troops  of  fiends. 

At  last  the  morning  dawned,  and  as  Larry,  disconsolately 
enough,  was  preparing  to  set  forward  on  his  journey  to  Mill  Street, 
the  cat  jumped  down  the  chimney,  and  took  his  usual  place  on 
the  hob. 

"Well,  I  am  going  now,"  said  Larry;  "have  you  any  direc- 
tions to  give  about  the  brogues  ?" 

The  cat  did  not  reply,  but  uttered  a  hideous  growl,  which  fell 
heavily  on  the  poor  fellow's  heart;  so,  kissing  his  wife  and  child- 
ren, and  commending  them  to  the  protection  of  God,  he  set  out 
on  his  sorrowful  journey. 

He  had  not  gone  far  when  he  perceived  through  the  dim  gray 
of  the  morning  a  human  figure  approaching;  and  on  advancing 
a  little  nearer,  he  found  that  it  was  a  very  old  man,  of  extremely 
diminutive  stature  and  forbidding  aspect.  He  wore  an  old  gray 
coat  and  an  equally  old  woolen  cap,  and  his  thin  white  hair  de- 
scended to  his  knees;  he  was  bare-foot,  and  carried  a  wallcing- 
stick  io  his  hand. 

"  Good  morrow,  and  God  save  you,  Larry  Roche,"  said  the  old 
man  as  he  came  up. 

"  A  bright  morning  to  you,"  answered  Larry. 

'*  How  is  every  rope's  length  of  you,  Larry,  and  how  is  the 
woman  and  the  childre  at  home  ?"  demanded  the  stranger. 


no  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"Fane,  purty  well,  considherin',"  replied  Larry  ;  "but  you 
have  a  great  advantage  of  me." 

"  How's  that?"  said  the  old  man. 

••Why,  because  you  know  me  so  well,  while  I  have  no  more 
knowledge  of  you  than  of  the  man  in  the  moon." 

"Och,  I'd  know  your  skin  in  a  tan-yard,"  said  the  old  chap, 
laughing.     "  But  is  it  possible  you  don't  know  me  ?" 

"  Faix,  if  God  Almighty  knows  no  more  about  you  than  I  do, 
the  devil  will  have  a  prey  of  you  one  of  these  days,"  replied 
Larrys 

"Well,  say  no  more  about  that,"  said  the  old  fellow,  rather 
angrily.  "But  where  are  you  going  this  blessed  Sunday  morn- 
ing, Larry?" 

"To  Mill  Street,"  said  Larry. 

•'All  the  ways — musha!  what's  taking  you  to  Mill  Street, 
Larry  ?" 

"My  feet  and  my  business,"  said  Larry,  something  piqued  at 
the  old  fellow's  inquisitive  importunity. 

"You  are  very  stiff  this  morning,  Larry,"  said  the  stranger 
with  a  grin. 

•'I  am  worse  than  that,"  said  the  poor  fellow;  "the  heart 
within  me  is  sick  and  sore." 

•' And  what  troubles  you  now,  Larry?" 

Larry  hereupon  told  the  whole  of  his  strange  misfortunes  to 
the  stranger,  ending  with  a  deep  "  ochonc,"  and  wishing,  if  it 
was  the  will  of  God,  that  "his  four  bones  were  stretched  in  the 
church-yard  of  Kilebawn." 

"You'll  \k  there  time  enough  for  your  welcome,  maybe," 
said  the  old  chap,  "but  that's  neither  here  nor  there.  What 
will  you  do  with  the  black  cat?" 

"  Och,  sweet  bad  luck  to  all  the  cats  alive,  both  black  and 
wjiile,"  imprecated  Larry. 

"That  cat's  a  devil — a  fiend,"  said  the  stranger;  "and  more 
than  that,  he  intends  to  murder  you  and  your  family  this  very 
night." 

Larry  groaned,  whilst  the  stranger's  hideous  countenance  was 
convulsed  with  half-suppressed  laughter. 


PUSS   IN   BROGUES,  III 

**Well,  Larry,"  said  he  again,  "  I  am  your  friend,  and  I  have 
power  to  save  you  and  yours,  on  one  condition;  and  that  is,  that 
you  will  stop  up  the  window  in  the  back  wall  of  your  cabin." 

"  Faith  and  I'll  do  that  with  a  heart  and  a  half,"  said  Larry ». 
"But  what  do  you  want  that  for?" 

"I'll  tell  you  that  another  time,"  said  the  little  man. 

"  Go  home  now,  and  say  you  can't  proceed  to  Mill  Street  with- 
out taking  the  wife  and  children  with  you,  to  leave  tl.e  measure 
of  their  feet  for  the  brogues.  Tell  the  cat  also  that  he  must 
come  too,  to  have  his  fit  taken ;  then  tie  him  up  in  a  bag,  and 
bring  him  with  you;  fasten  this  hair  around  your  neck,"  added 
the  old  man,  at  the  same  time  extracting  a  single  white  hair  from 
his  head,  "  and  all  the  imps  of  hell  cannot  hurt  you.  But  mind 
and  don't  open  your  lips  from  the  time  you  leave  home  till  you 
come  to  this  spot;  and  when  you  arrive  here  with  the  cat,  sit 
down  and  wait  the  event." 

A  thick  fog  now  suddenly  rose,  and  the  old  man  was  hidden 
fixnn  the  sight  of  Larry,  who,  greatly  overjoyed,  returned  to  his 
cabin  to  execute  the  orders  he  had  got,  and  was  met  by  his  wife, 
who  was  trembling  for  his  safe  return,  but  did  not  expect  him 
sooner  than  night. 

"Musha!  Larry  agragal,  you're  welcome,"  she  exclaimed; 
"and  what  in  the  name  of  God  turned  you  back?" 

♦'I am  coming  for  you  and  the  gorsoons;  you  must  all  come 
to  Mill  Street  to  have  your  measure  taken  for  the  brogues." 

"  And  must  I  go  too  ?"  asked  the  cat. 

"Faix  you  must,"  said  Larry;  "if  natural  Christians  couldn't 
be  fitted  without  bein'  on  the  spot,  it's  hard  to  expect  that  you 
could." 

"  And  how  am  I  to  travel  ?"  he  asked. 

"In  the  bag  on  my  back,"  replied  Larry.  "I'll  whip  you 
through  tho  country  like  a  dinner  to  a  hog,  and  man  or  mortal 
shall  never  be  the  wiser,  if  the  broguemaker  keeps  his  tongue 
quiet." 

"  I'll  CO  bail  he  will,"  said  Puss,  "  for  I'll  kill  him  the  very 
night  the  brogues  is  brought  home." 


112  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"  Lord  tave  mercy  en  him  !"  ejaculated  Larry,  his  heart  sink- 
ing  within  him. 

"  Pray  for  yourself — maybe  you  want  mercy  as  well  as  him," 
said  the  cat. 

The  preparations  were  soon  completed,  and  the  cat  being  put  in- 
to  the  bag,  Larry  tied  the  mouth  of  it  firmly  with  a  piece  of  cord, 
and  thert  slung  it  on  his  shoulder;  and,  after  acquainting  his  wife 
with  his  adventure  with  the  old  man  on  "  Moin-more, "  he  de- 
parted, whistling  the  air  of  "  Thamama  Thulla." 

He  soon  gained  the  spot  where  he  had  parted  with  the  old  man, 
and  looking  round  and  perceiving  nobody,  he  sat  down  on  the 
green  fern,  still  holding  the  bag  which  contained  his  terrible 
fcUow-traveller. 

"  Whatstops  you,  Larry  ?"  asked  the  cat. 

Larry  recollecting  the  old  man's  injunction,  spoke  not,  but  con- 
tinued whistling, 

"  Does  anything  ail  you,  Larry  ?" 

•'Whoo,  hoo,  phoo,  hoo — Thamemo  Chodladh." 

"  Is  Betty  and  the  childre  to  the  fore  ?" 

"  Thamemo  Chodladh." 

"Bad  cess  to  you  and  your  'Thamemo  Chodladh,'  "  cried 
the  cat. 

"That  the  prayers  may  fall  on  the  preacher,"  said  Larry  to 
himself. 

The  cat  now  began  to  make  desperate  efforts  to  escape  from 
the  bag,  whilst  Larry  redoubled  his  exertions  to  detain  him.  His 
attention,  however,  was  soon  airested  by  the  cry  of  hounds,  and 
on  looking  westward,  he  perceived,  rapidly  approaching  over  the 
morass,  a  big  black  horse,  and  accompanied  by  a  numerous  pack 
of  black  dogs. 

"Ochone,"  thought  Larry,  "now  I  am  coached  of  all  ever 
happened  me.  Here  is  the  chap's  black  friends  coming  to  rescue 
him,  and  they  won't  leave  a  toothful  a-picce  in  my  carcass." 

"Let  me  go,  Larry,"  said  the  cat,  "let  me  go,  and  I'll  show 
yoU  where  there's  a  cart-load  of  gold  buried  in  the  ground." 
But  Larry  remained  silent,  and  meantime  the  horseman  and 
hounds  came  up. 


PUSS    IN    BROGUES.  UJ 

**Good  morrow  and  good  luck,  Larry  Roche,"  said  the  black 
equestrian,  wilh  a  grim  smile. 

"Good  morrow,  kindly,"  said  Larry. 

"Is  that  a  fox  you  have  in  the  bag,  Larry?" 

"  No,  in  troth,"  said  Larry,  "  though  I  believe  he  is  not  much 
honester  than  a  foX." 

"I  must  see  what  it  is,  anyhow,"  said  the  sable  horseman, 
with  a  gesticulation  which  convinced  Larry  at  once  that  he  was 
the  fellow  he  Ijad  seen  before. 

So  Larry  opened  the  bag,  and  out  jumped  Puss,  and  away  with 
him  over  the  bog  like  a  flash  of  lightning.  The  wild  huntsman . 
hallooed  his  dogs,  and  the  pursuit  commenced,  but  the  cat  was 
soon  surrounded  and  torn  to  pieces. 

"Now,"  said  the  horseman,  "I  must  bid  you  fdl-ewell;"  and 
off  he  went;  and  then  Larry  returned  home  with  the  happy 
tidings,  and  the  squire's  guinea  was  spent  in  the  purchase  of 
sundry  bottles  of  "  Tom  Corcoran's  "  best  potteen;  but  we  must 
do  Larry  the  justice  to  say  that  his  agreement  with  the  old  man 
was  punctually  performed,  and  the  back  window  stopped  as 
effectually  -as  mud  and  stones  could  do  it. 

A  few  nights  after,  Larry  was  aroused  from  his  sleep  by  the 
merry  tones  of  bagpipes  at  his  fireside,  and  getting  up  he  per- 
ceived the  Idtchen  illuminated  with  a  bright,  reddish  glare,  whilst 
on  the  hob-stofle  he  saw,  snugly  seated,  the  ever-remembered 
little  old  man,  playing  a  set  of  bagpipes,  to  the  delightful  tones 
of  which  hundreds  of  little  fellows  with  red  caps  and  red  small 
clothesAvere  capering  about  the  floor. 

♦'God  bless  the  man  and  the  work,"  said  Larry;  "  and  warm 
work  yez  have  ov  it  this  hour  ov  the  night." 

The  little  fellow  hereupon  set  up  a  shout,  and  rushing  to  the 
door,  flew  through  it,  one  of  them  striking  poor  Larry  a  box  on 
the  right  eye,  which  blinded  it. 

"Goodnight,  Misthur  Larry,"  said  the  piper;  "and  how  is 
your  four  bones?  and  how  is  the  good  woman  that  owns  you?" 

"  Och,  no  fear  at  all  ov  the  woman,"  replied  Larry;  "  and  as 
for  my  bones,  they  are  well  enough;  but,  faith,  my  right  eye,  I 
believe,  is  in  whey  in  my  head." 


^14  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

:  "Well,  it  will  teach  you  how  to  speak  to  your  betters  in 
iiiture,"  said  the  little  piper;  "never  mintion  the  holy  name 
again,  when  talking  to  the  'good  people.' 

"But,  Larry,  listen  :  I'll  now  tell  you  why  I  wanted  you  to 
stop  up  your  back  window. 

"  You  must  know  that  this  cabin  of  yours  stands  on  the  middle 
of  a  fairy  pass.  We  often  come  this  way  in  our  wanderings 
through  the  air  in  cold  nights,  and  often  we  wished  to  warm 
ourselv^  at  your  fireside;  but  as  there  was  a  window  in  the 
back  of  your  cabin,  we  had  not  power  to  stop,  but  were  com- 
pelled to  pursue  our  journey.  Now  that  the  window  is  stopped, 
we  can  come  in  and  remain  as  long  as  we  wish,  and  resume  our 
journey  through  the  door  by  which  we  enter.  We  pass  this  way 
almost  ever/'hight,  and  you  need  never  feel  in  the  least  appre- 
hensive of  injury  so  long  as  you  let  us  pursue  our  pastimes  undis- 
turbed." 

"I'U  be  bound  me  ermine  shall  never  annoy  one  of  yez," 
said  Larry. 

"That's  a  good  fellow,  Larry,"  said  the  little  chap;  "and 
now  take  those  pipes  and  play  us  a  tune.'' 

"  Och,  the  devil  a  chanter  I  ever  fingered,"  said  Larry,  "  since 
I  was  christened." 

"  No  matter,"  said  the  little  fellow;  "  I'll  go  bail  you'll  play 
out  of  the  soot." 

Larry   "yoked"  on  the  pipes,  and  lilted  up  in  darling  style 
a  merry   tune,   whilst   the   old   chap  was   ready   to   split  with 
laughing. 
•    "  What's  the  name  of  that  tchune  ?"  said  Larry. 

"  Caiih-na-bro^ueen,"  replied  the  fairy  piper;  "a  tune  I  com- 
posed in  memory  of  your  escape  from  the  cat;  a  tune  that  will 
soon  become  a  favorite  all  over  Munster." 

Larry  handed  back  the  pipes;  the  little  man  placed  them  in  a 
•red  bag,  and,  bidding  his  host  "good  night,"  dashed  up  the 
chimney. 

The  next  night,  and  almost  every  following  night,  the  din  of 
feiry  revels  might  be  beard  at  Larry  Roche's  fireside,  and  Larry 


PUSS    IN    BROGUES.  IIJ 

himself  was  their  constant  companion  in  their  midnight  frolics. 
He  soon  became  the  best  performer  on  the  bagpipes  in  the  south 
of  Ireland,  and  after  some  time  surrendered  his  cabin  to  the  sole 
occupation  of  the  "good  people,"  and  wandered  with  his  family 
through  all  the  Munster  counties,  and  was  welcome,  and  kindly 
treated  wherever  he  came.  After  some  time,  the  cabin  from 
neglect  fell,  and  offered  no  further  impediment  to  the  fairy  host 
in  their  midnight  wanderings,  whilst  Larry  followed  a  life  of 
pleasure  and  peace,  far  from  the  scene  of  his  former  perils  and 
privations. 

The  cat,  of  course,  was  never  seen  after;  but  the  peasantry  of 
the  neighborhood  say  that  the  screams  of  the  infernal  fiend^ 
mingled  with  the  deep  bowlings  of  hell-hounds  and  the  savage- 
yellings  of  the  sable  hunter,  may  be  distinctly  heard  in  horrid 
chorus  amongst  'ie  fens  and  morasses  of  the  broad  Moin-more. 


:U6  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 


THE  WISE   SIMPLETON. 


A  veiy  long  time  ago,  somewhere  in  the  western  part  of  the 
province  of  Munster,  lived,  in  a  small  and  wretched  cabin,  a  poor 
widow,  named  Modreen  Mera.  She  had  three  sons,  two  of  whom 
were  fine  young  men;  but  the  third — and  of  him  we  shall  soon 
hear  a  good  deal — thoagh  strong  and  active,  was  of  a  lazy  dis- 
position, which  resulted,  as  his  mother  at  least  always  thought, 
not  so  much  from  any  fault  of  his  own,  as  from  his  natural  fool- 
ishness of  character;  in  fact,  she  really  considered  him  as  of  that 
class  called  iji  Ireland  "  naturals."  But  before  we  say  anything 
of  the  tlurd  son,  let  us  trace  the  histories  of  his  two  elder  brothers. 

Now  the  first,  whose  name  was  Mihal  More,  or  Michael  Big 
Fellow,  never  let  his  mother  rest  one  moment  imtil  she  had  con- 
sented to  his  star'aDg,  in  order  that  he  might,  as  he  said,  should 
he  fall  in  \n£b.  a  good  master,  return,  and  perhaps  make  her  com- 
fortable for  tlic  remainder  of  her  days. 

To  this  plan,  after  much  hesitation,  Moireen  Mera  at  length 
agreed,  and  the  day  was  fixed  by  Mihal  for  starting.  "And, 
mother,"  said  he,  "though  you  have  but  little  left,  and  it  is 
wrong  to  deprive  you  of  it,  if  you  woit/d  hut  bake  me  a  fine  cake 
of  wheaten  bread,  and  if  you  cotM  hut  spare  me  one  of  the  hens 
— ah  !  that  would  \x  too  much  to  ask  ! — against  the  long  road; 
could  you,  mother?" 

"  Why  not,  Midhael?  I  could  never  refuse  you  anything;  and 
you  will  want  the  cake  and  hen  badly  enough.  And,  Mihal 
avick  asthord  !  if  you  s/iouhl  ever  meet  one  of  the  good  people,  or 
anything  you  may  think  isnU  right,  pass  it  by,  and  say  not  a 
word." 


THE    WISE    SIMPLETON.  II7 

It  was  evenlag  when  he  began  his  expedition,  nor  did  he  stop  on 
the  road  till  daylight  returned,  when  he  found  himself  in  the  cen- 
tre of  a  wood,  and  very  faint  and  hungry.  Seeing  a  convenient- 
looking  rock  nfar  a  place  where  he  thought  it  most  probable  he 
should  find  waier,  he  sc.\ted  himself,  with  the  intention  of  satisfy- 
ing his  hunger  and  tliirst. 

He  had  not  been  many  moments  engaged  in  eating  some  of  his 
bread,  and  had  just  commer^c-ed  an  attack  on  the  hen,  by  taking 
off  one  of  her  wings,  when  there  came  up  to  him  a  poor  grey- 
hound, which  looked  the  very  picture  of  starvation.  Greyhounds 
are  proverbially  thin,  but  this  was  thinner  than  the  thinnest,  and, 
it  was  easy  to  see,  had  doubtlessly  left  at  home  a  very  large  family. 

Mihal  More  was  so  very  intent  on  eating  that  he  heeded  not 
the  imploring  look  of  the  poor  greyhound,  and  it  was  not  till, 
wonderful  to  say,  she  addressed  him  in  intelligible  Irish,  that  he 
deigned  to  notice  her.  But  when  the  first  word  came  from  her 
mouth,  he  was  sure  she  must  be  one  of  those  against  anycommu- 
nicatioj  with  whom  his  mother  had  so  emphatically  warned  him, 
and  ac?oordingly  determined  to  apply  her  maxim  strictly  to  the 
occurrence. 

"You  ar«  a  traveller,  I  see,"  said  the  greyhound,  "and  were 
doubtless  weary  and  fainting  with  hunger  when  you  took  your 
seat  here.  I  afn  the  mother  of  a  numerous  and  helpless  family, 
who  aK-«cveD  now  clamorous  for  subsistence;  this  I  am  unable 
to  afford  them,  unless  I  am  myself  supported.  You  have  now 
the  means.  Afford  it  to  me,  then,  if  only  in  the  shape  of  a  few 
of  tlie  hen's  small  bones;  I  will  be  forever  grateful,  and  may 
perhaps  hz  the  means  of  serving  you  in  turn  when  you  most 
want  end  loast  expect  it." 

Eut  Mi'.i.'J  continued  sedulously  picking  the  bones,  and  when 
he  had  fini°-hed,  he  put  them  all  back  into  his  wallet,  still  re- 
solving to  b;ive  nothing  to  do  whatever  with  this  fairy,  repre- 
sented, as  he  imagined,  by  the  greyhound. 

"  Weil  !"  said  she  piteously,  "  since  you  give  iie  nothing,  fol- 
low me.  You  are  perhaps  in  search  of  service ;  my  master,  who 
knowg  not  my  iaculty  of  speech,  lives  near;  he  may  assist  you. 


Il8  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

And  see,"  continued  she,  as  he  followed,  "  heliold  that  well. 
Had  you  relieved  me,  it  was  in  my  power  to  have  changed  its 
contenbi,  which  are  of  blood,  to  the  finest  virgin  honey;  but  the 
honey  is  beneath  the  blood,  neither  can  it  now  be  changed ! 
However,  try  your  fortune,  and  if  you  are  a  reasonably  sensible 
fellow,  I  may  yet  relent,  and  be  reconciled  to  you." 

Mibal  still  answered  not  a  word,  but  followed  the  greyhound, 
until  she  came  to  the  gate  of  a  comfortable  farmer's  residence. 
She  entered  the  door,  and  Mihal  saw  her  occupy  her  place  at 
the  side  of  the  nre,  and  that  she  was  quickly  besieged  by  a  num- 
ber of  clamorous  postulants,  whose  wants  she  seemed  but  poorly 
adequate  to  supply. 

At  a  glance  he  perceived  that  the  house  contained  a  master 
and  a  mistress;  but  an  old  lady  in  the  chimney  comer,  having 
by  her  a  pair  of  cratches,  made  him  quail,  by  the  sinister  expres- 
sion of  her  countenance.  Still,  nothing  daunted,  he  asked  the 
master  of  the  house  at  once  for  employment. 

"Plenty  of  employment  have  I,  friend,  and  good  wages,"  an- 
swered he,  "  but  I  am  a  manof  a  thousand;  and  I  may  also  say, 
not  one  man  in  a  thousand  will  stop  with  me  in  this  house." 

"  Aud  may  I  ask  the  reason  of  this,  sir  ?"  said  Mihal,  taking 
off  his  hat  respectfully. 

«'  I  will  answer  you  immediately;  but  first  follow  me  into  rty 
garden.  There,"  said  he,  pointing  to  aheap  of  bones  which  lay 
bleaching  on  the  ground,  ^^t/icy  are  the  bones  of  those  unfortu- 
nate persons  wlio  have  followed  in  my  service;  if  now,  therefore, 
you  should  so  wish,  you  have  my  full  permission  to  depart  un- 
hurt; if  you  will  brave  them,  hear  now  the  terms  on  which  I 
must  bo  servetl." 

"Sir,"  answered  Mihal,  "you  surprise  me.  I  have  travelled 
far,  have  no  money,  neither  any  more  to  eat;  say,  therefore, 
your  terms;  and  If  I  can  at  all  reconcile  myself  to  them,  I  am 
prepared  to  stop  here." 

"  You  must  understand,  then,"  said  the  farmer,  "  that  I  hold 
my  lands  by  a  very  unusual  tenure.  This  is  not  my  fault.  How- 
ever,  you  will  find  me  an  indulgent  master  to  you,  at  all  events; 


THE   WISE    SIMPLETON.  II9 

for,  in  fact,  you  may  chance  to  be  my  master  as  much  as  I  yours, 
or  perhap<i  more,  foi^  these  are  the  terms: 

"  If/,  at  any  time,  first  find  fault  with  any  one  thing  jt??/  may 
say  or  do,  yon  are  to  be  solemnly  bound  to  take  this  (pointing  to 
an  immense  and  sharp  axe),  and  forthwith,  without  a  word,  strike 
me  till  /shall  be  dsad;  but  should ^'^?^  at  any  one  time,  first  find 
fault  \vjth  one  of  my  words  or  actions,  /  must  be  equally  bound 
to  do  the  very  same  dreadful  thing  io  yourself .  Blame  me  not, 
therefore,  should^^K  find  fault  with  me,  for  it  will  be  my  destiny, 
nay,  my  duty,  to  dp  as  I  have  described;  and,  on  the  contrary,  if 
it  happen  oi/icnaise,  I  must  be  ready  to  submit  to  my  fate.  Con- 
sider, and  reply." 

"  Oh,  my  mastef !"  said  Mihal  More,  "  I  have  but  the  alterna- 
tive of  starvation;  I  am  in  a  strangely  wild  country,  without  a 
friend.  I  m:ist  die  if  I  proceed,  and  nothing  more  dreadful  than 
death  can  happen  to  me  here.  I  therefore  throw  myself  upon 
your  compassion,  and  agree  to  your  terms." 

They  then  returned  to  the  house,  and  Mihal  felt  somewhat  re- 
freshed, even  by  the  smell  alone  of  the  savory  viands  which  the 
mistress  was  then  preparing  for  the  afternoon's  repast;  the  grey- 
hound, too,  cast  occasionally  wistful  glances  towards  the  opera- 
tions going  fonyard. 

At  length  the  dinner  hour  being  all  but  arrived,  the  old  lady 
in  the  chimney-comer  then  opened  her  lips  for  the  first  time  since 
Mihal  had  come  in,  and  expressed  a  wish  to  go  out  and  take  a 
walk;  "for,"  said  she,  "I  have  not  been  out  for  some  weeks, 
ever  since  our  last  servant  left  us.  What  is  your  name,  my  man  ?' ' 
So  he  told  her.  "Come,  then,"  said  she,  "Mihal,  and  assist 
me  about  the  garden,  for  I  am  completely  cramped." 

Mihal  muttered  a  few  words  about  dinner,  hunger,  and  so  on, 
but  was  interrupted  by  the  farmer,  who  said,  "  Mihal,  you  tnust 
attend  my  mother;  she  has  sometimes  strange  fancies.  Besides, 
remeniber  our  agreement.     Do  you  Jind  fault  with  me  .^" 

"Oh,  by  no  means,  sir, "  said  Mihal,  frightened;  "I  must  do  my 
business,  I  suppose." 

The  dinner  was  actually  laid  out  on  the  plates  to  every  one 


I20  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

when  Mihal  and  the  old  lady  walked  out.  No  sooner  had  they 
done  so,  than  the  greyhound,  before  she  could  be  prevented, 
pounced  on  his  dinner,  and  devoured  it  in  a  moment! 

The  old  lady  thought  it  proper  tD  walk  for  some  hours  in  the 
garden;  and  now  was  Mihal  very  hungry,  for  he  had  tasted 
nothing  since  h'B  had  finished  the  hen  early  that  morning;  he 
almost  began  to  wish  that  he  had  relieved  the  greyhound. 

No  sooner  had  they  entered  the  house  than  the  accursed  old 
lady  seized  a  large  cake  of  wheaten  bread,  which  was  baking  on 
the  embers,  and,  hastily  spreading  on  it  a  coat  of  butter,  directed 
Mihal  to  attend  her  again  into  the  garden  !  He  could  say  nothing, 
for  his  master's  eyes  were  on  him.  He  was  completely  bewild- 
ered. In  despair  he  went  with  the  old  lady,  and  as  it  was  a 
lovely  moonlight  night,  she  stopped  out  an  unusual  time,  and  it 
was  very  late  when  they  came  in. 

Mihal  stretched  himself,  quite  fainting,  on  the  bed,  but  slept  not 
a  wink.  How  I  wish,  now,  thought  he,  that  I  had  given  the 
greyhound  not  only  the  small  bones,  but  even  half  my  hen  ! 

The  next  morning  the  family  early  assembled  for  breakfast, 
and  again  were  the  cakes  put  down  to  bake  over  the  glowing 
fire.  A^ain  did  the  old  lady  seize  one,  and  command  Mihal  into 
the  garden  ! 

He  was  now  completely  exhausted;  and,  determining  to  ex- 
postulate with  his  master  when  he  came  in,  went  up  to  him,  crav- 
ing some  food. 

"No,"  said  the  farmer;  "  we  never  eat  except  at  stated  times, 
and  my  mother  keeps  the  keys." 

"Ah,  sir,  have  pity  on  me!"  answered  Mihal;  "how  can  I 
exist  or  do  your  business  ?" 

"  Ajui  can  you  blame  me?"  said  the  master. 

Mihal,  no\^  quite  losing  sight  of  the  agreement,  and  confused 
by  the  question,  put  in  so  treacherous  a  manner,  answered,  "  that 
of  course  he  could  not  but  blame  any  person  who  would  permit 
such  infamous  ccaiduct." 

Here  was  the  signal.  Mihal,  in  his  enfeebled  slate,  was  no 
match  for  the  sturdy  farmer;  in  a  moment  his  head  was  rolling 


THE    WISE    SIMPLETON.  121 

on  the  floor  by  a  vigorous  stroke  of  the  fatal  axe,  while  grins  of 
satisfaction  might  be  seen  playing  on  the  countenances  both  of 
the  old  lady  and  hsr  greyhound. 

But  when,  in  the  course  of  a  year,  Mihal  did  not  appear,  the 
widow's  grief  was  unbounded.  How  was  she,  then,  astonished, 
when  "the  fool,"  as  he  was  yet  always  called,  although  his  real 
name  was  Rooshkulum,  actually  volunteered  to  do  the  same  ! 
Nothing  could  stop  him;  go  he  would.  So  the  cake  was  baked, 
the  hen  was  killed  and  roasted,  and  Rooshkulum,  "the  fool," 
set  out  on  his  expedition.  And  there,  at  the  rock  in  the  wood, 
was  that  very  same  greyhound ;  and  as  soon  as  she  had  looked 
him  in  the  face,  he  said,  "  Why,  poor  thing !  I  have  here  what  I 
cannot  eat,  and  you  seem  badly  to  need  it;  here  are  these  bones 
and  some  of  this  cake." 

It  was  Ihett  the  greyhound  addressed  him.  "  Come  with  me," 
said  she;  "lo  !  here  is  the  well,  of  which  your  brother  could 
not  drink:  behold  !  here  is  the  honey  on  top,  clear  and  pure,  but 
the  blood  is  far  beneath  !"  ** 

When  "the  fool"  had  satisfied  himself  at  this  well,  he  fol- 
lowed the  greyhound  to  the  farmer's  house.  It  may  be  barely 
possible  that  by  the  road  he  received  from  her  some  excellent  ad- 
vice. 

The  conversation  that  ensned  when  Rooshknlnm  arrived  at  the 
farmer's,  and  offered  himself  for  his  servant,  was  much  of  the 
same  nature  as  I  have  before  detailed  while  relating  the  former 
part  of  my  story.  "But,"  said  Rooshkulum  the  fool,  "I  will 
not  bind  myself  to  these  terms  forever;  I  might  get  tired  of  you, 
or  you  of  me ;  so,  if  you  please,  I  will  agree  to  stop  with  you  for 
certain  till  we  both  hear  the  cuckoo  cry  when  we  are  together." 

To  this  they  agreed,  and  went  into  the  house.  However,  just 
before  they  stepped  in,  the  farmer  asked  Rooshkulum  his  name. 

"Why,"  said  he,  "mine  is  a  very  curious  name:  it  is  so  curi- 
ous a  name,  indeed,  that  you  would  never  learn  it;  and  where  is 
the  occasion  of  breaking  your  jaws  every  ininute  trying  to  call  me 
'  Pondracaleuthashochun, '  which  is  my  real  name,  when  you  may 
as  well  call  me  always  '  the  Boy  ?'  " 


122  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

"  Well !  that  will  do,"  answered  the  master. 

The  dinner  was  now  prepared,  and  laid  out  on  the  plates,  and 
the  old  tricks  about  to  be  played.  Rooshkulum,  as  with  the 
others,  could  not  find  fault,  for,  fool  as  he  was,  he  knew  the  con- 
sequences. As  he  went  out  with  the  old  lady,  she  too  inquired 
his  name. 

"WTiy,  really,''  said  he  to  her,  "  mine  is  a  name  that  no  one, 
I  venture  to  say,  was  ever  called  before.  All  my  brothers  and 
sisters  died,  and  my  father  and  mother  thought  that  perhaps  an 
unusual  queer  kind  of  name  might  have  luck,  so  they  called  me 
^  Mehanc.''  " 

And,  reader,  if  thou  understandest  not  our  vernacular,  know 
that  "Mehane"  signifies  in  English  "myself." 

They  spent  some  hours,  as  usual,  in  the  garden,  and  Roosh- 
kulum returned  tired  and  exhausted.  But  when  he  expected  to 
get  his  supper,  and  when  she  again  brought  him  out,  and  ate  the 
fine  hot  buttered  cake  before  his  very  eyes,  it  was  more  than  flesh 
and  blood  could  stand.  However,  he  pretended  not  to  mind 
it  in  the  least,  but  was  very  civil  to  the  old  lady,  amusing  her 
by  his  silly  stories.  "And  now,  ma'am,"  said  he,  "let's  walk 
a  little  way  down  this  sunny  bank  before  we  go  in. " 

Certain  it  was  that  the  sun  did  happen  to  shine  on  the  bank  at 
that  very  time,  but  it  was  to  what  were  growing  on  it  that  he 
wished  to  direct  her  close  attention;  for  when  he  came  to  a  cer- 
tain place  where  there  was  a  cavity  filled  by  a  rank  growth  of 
nettles,  thistles  and  thorns,  he  gave  his  charge  such  a  shove  as 
sent  her  sprawling  and  kicking  in  the  midst  of  them,  uttering  wild 
shrieks,  for  the  pain  was  great. 

But  Rooshkulum  had  no  notion  of  helping  her  out,  and  ran 
into  the  house,  which  was  some  distance  away,  desiring  the  far- 
mer to  run,  for  that  his  mother  would  -vizW.  there,  and  had  fallen 
into  a  hole,  from  which  he  could  not  get  her.  And  then  the 
farmer  ran,  and  cried,  "Oh,  mother,  where  are  you?  what  has 
happened  ?" 

"  Alas,  my  son  !  here  I  am  down  in  this  hole  !  Help  me  out ! 
I  am  ruined,  disfigured  for  life  !" 


THE    WISE    SIMPLETON.  1 23 

*•  And  who  is  it,"  said  the  farmer,  "that  has  dared  to  serve  you 
thus?" 

"Oh,"  said  she,  "it  was  Mehane!  Mehane  a  veil  Mehane P* 
(Myself  has  ruined  myself!) 

"  Who  ?"  said  the  farmer  as  he  helped  her  out. 

"  Oh,  it  was  /I/t/zrtWf,"  answered  she;  "Mehane  aveil  Mehane!'^ 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  farmer,  "  I  suppose  it  can't  be  helped, 
as  it  was  yourself  that  did  it.  So  here,  'Boy  !'  take  her  on  your 
back,  and  carry  her  home;  it  was  but  an  accident !" 

So  Rooshkulum  carried  her  off  and  put  her  to  bed,  she  all  the 
time  crying  out,  "  Ah  !  but  it  was  Myself  that  ruined  Myself!" 
till  her  son  thought  her  half  cracked.  She  was  quite  unable  to 
rise  next  morning;  so  Rooshkulum  "the  fool"  made  an  excellent 
and  hearty  breakfast,  which  he  took  care  also  to  share  with  the 
greyhound. 

But  then  the  old  lady  called  her  son  to  her  bedside,  and  ex- 
plained how  that  it  was  "  the  Boy  "  who  had  done  the  mischief, 
"And  I  command  you,"  said  she,  "to  get  rid  of  him,  and  for 
that  purpose  desire  him  at  once  to  go  and  make  '  cuisseh  na 
cuissheh  na  guirach  '  (the  road  of  the  sheeps'  feet),  that  you  have 
long  been  intending  to  do,  and  then  to  send  him  with  the  flock 
over  the  road  to  the  land  of  the  giant;  we  shall  then  never  see 
him  more;  and  it  is  better  to  lose  even  a  flock  of  sheep  than 
have  him  longer  here,  now  that  he  has  discovered  our  trick." 

The  farmer  called  Rooshkulum  to  him,  and  taxed  him  with 
what  he  had  done  to  his  mother. 

"And,"  said  Rooshkulum,  '■•  could  you  blame  me  ?  " 

"Why,  no,"  answered  the  farmer,  remembering  his  part  of  the 
agreement,  "  I don^ t  blame  you,  but  you  must  never  do  it  any 
more.  And  now  you  must  take  these  (pointing  to  tlie  sheap), 
and  because  the  bog  is  soft  on  the  road  to  the  '  land  of  the  giant,' 
you  must  make  '  the  road  of  the  sheeps'  feet '  for  them  to  go  over, 
and  come  back  when  they  are  fat,  and  the  giant  will  support  you 
while  you  are  there.     Do  you  b  la  vie  me  for  that?'" 

"No,"  said  Rooshkulum,  driving  away  the  sheep. 

But,  contrary  to  all  their  expectations,  in  an  hour's  time  in 


124  THB   ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

marched  Rooshkulum,  covered  with  bog  dirt  and  blood.  "  Oh !" 
said  he,  "  I  have  had  hard  work  since,  and  made  a  good  deal  of 
the  road  of  the  sheep's  legs;  but  indeed,  there  are  not  half  enough 
legs  after  all,  and  you  must  give  me  more  legs,  if  you  would 
wish  the  road  made  firm. ' ' 

*♦  And,  you  rascal,  do  you  tell  me  you  have  cut  off  the  legs  of 
all  my  fine  sheep  ?" 

"  Every  one,  sir;  did  you  not  desire  me?    Do  you  blame  fiie?'^ 
"  Oh,  dearno  !  by  no  means  !    Only  take  care,  and  don't  do  it 
any  more." 

They  went  on  tolerably  for  a  few  days,  for  they  were  afraid  of 
Rooshkulum,  and  let  him  alone,  till  one  morning  the  farmer  told 
him  he  was  going  to  a  wedding  that  night,  and  that  he  might  go 
with  him. 

"Well,"  said  Rooshkulum,  "what  is  a  wedding?  what  will 
they  do  there  ?" 

"Why,"  answered  the  fanner,  "  a  wedding  is  a  nice  place, 
where  there  is  a  good  supper,  and  two  people  are  joined  together 
as  man  and  wife." 

"Oh,  is  that  it  ?    I  should  like  much  to  see  what  they'll  do." 
"  Well,  then,  you  must  promise  me  to  do  what  I'll  tell  you 
with  the  horses  when  we  are  going." 
"Wliy,  what  shall  I  do?" 

"  Oh,  only  when  we  are  going,  t^rjn'/  take  your  e)'es  from  the 
korsrs  till  we  get  there;  then  have  your  two  eyes  on  my  plate, 
and  an  eye  on  every  other  person's  plate;  and  then  you'll  see 
what  they'll  do." 

Rooshkulum  said  nothing.  They  went  to  the  wedding;  but 
when  they  sat  down  to  supper,  all  were  .'urprised  to  find  a  round 
thing  on  their  plates,  covered  with  blood,  and  not  looking  very 
tempting.  But  the  farmer  soon  guessed  the  sad  truth,  and  call- 
ing Rooshkulum  aside,  he  sternly  asked  him  what  he  had  done. 

"  Can  you  blame  me  T^  answered  the  provoking  Rooshkulum  ; 
•*did  you  not  desire  me  not  to  take  the  eyes  from  the  horses  till  I 
got  here,  and  to  put  them  on  the  plates,  and  two  on  your  own 
plate,  and  that  I  would  see  what  they  would  do  then  ?" 


THE   WISE   SIMPLETON.  I25 

*^0k,  don't  imagine  I  blame  fot(,"  said  the  farmer;  "but  I 
meant  your  own  eyes  all  the  time ;  and,  inind  me,  don^i  do  it  any 
moreP'' 

They  were  all  by  this  time  heartily  sick  of  Rooshkulum,  es- 
pecially the  old  lady,  who  had  never  left  her  bed;  and  one  morn- 
ing, feeling  something  better,  she  called  the  farmer  to  her  bed- 
side, and  addressed  him  thus: — "You  know,  my  son,  that  your 
agreement  with  that  rascal  will  terminate  when  you  both  shall 
hear  the  cuckoo.  Now,  in  my  youth  I  could  imitate  the  cuckoo 
so  well  that  I  have  had  them  flying  round  me.  Put  me  up,  there- 
fore, in  the  big  holly  busbj  take  him  along  with  you  to  cut  a  tree 
near;  I  will  then  cry  '  cuckoo !'  '  cuckoo !'  and  the  agreement  will 
be  broken !"  said  she  chuckling  to  herself. 

This  seemed  a  capital  idea;  so  the  farmer  lifted  his  mother  out 
of  bed,  and  put  her  up  into  the  holly  bush,  calling  Rooshkulum 
to  bring  the  big  axe,  for  that  he  intended  to  fell  a  tree.  Roosh- 
kulum did  as  he  was  desired,  and  commenced  cutting  down  a 
certain  tree,  which  the  farmer  pointed  out.  And  not  long  had  he 
been  thus  engaged  when  the  old  lady  in  the  holly  bush  cried  out 
"cuckoo!"  "Hah!  what's  that?"  said  the  farmer;  "that 
sounds  like  the  cuckoo  !" 

"  Oh,  that  cannot  be,"  said  Rooshkulum,  "for  this  is  winter !" 

But  now  the  cuckoo  was  heard  beyond  a  doubt. 

"Well,"  said  Rooshkulum,  "before  I'm  done  with  you,  I'll 
go  and  see  this  cuckoo." 

"Why,  you  stupid  fool !"  said  the  farmer,  "no  man  ever  saw 
the  cuckoo," 

"Never  mind!"  said  Rooshkulum,  "it  can  be  no  harm  to 
look.  Wouldn't  you  think,  now,  that  the  cuckoo  was  speaking 
out  of  the  holly  bush?" 

"  Oh,  not  at  all ! — perhaps  she  is  five  miles  away.  Come  away 
at  once  and  give  up  your  place.     Did  we  not  both  hear  her?" 

"Stop!"  said-Rooshkulum ;  "stay  back!  don't  make  a  noise  ! 
There  !  did  not  you  see  something  moving  ?  Ay  !  that  must 
be  the  cuckoo  ! ' ' 

So  saying,  he   hurled  the  axe  into   the   holly   bush  with  his 


126  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

whole  force,  cutting  away  the  branches,  scattering  the  leaves  and 
lierries,  and  with  one  blow  severing  the  head  from  the  shoulders 
of  the  farmer's  mother  ! 

"Oh!"  said  the  farmer,  "  my  poor  old  mother  !  Oh,  what 
have  you  done,  you  villain  !     You  have  murdered  my  mother!" 

"And,"  said  Rooshkulum  (seemingly  surprised),  ^'^  I  suppose 
yoii  BLAME  vie  for  this,  do  you  .?" 

And  now  was  the  farmer  taken  by  surprise,  and  in  the  heat  of 
his  passion  answered,  "  How  dare  you,  you  black-hearted  villain, 
ask  me  such  a  question  ?  Of  course  I  do  !  Have  you  not  mur- 
dered my  mother?     Alas  !  my  poor  old  mother." 

"Oh,  very  well!"  said  Rooshkulum,  as  the  farmer  continued 
looking  at  his  mother,  and  lamenting,  "perhaps  you  also  re- 
member our  own  little  agreement.  I  have  but  too  good  reason 
to  think  that  you  and  your  accursed  old  mother,  by  your  schemes, 
caused  the  death  of  my  fine  brother.  But  now  for  the  fulfillment 
of  my  share  of  the  bargain  !" 

In  a  moment  the  axe  descended  on  his  head;  and  Rooshkulum, 
the  wise  simpleton,  having  now  got  rid  of  his  enemies,  took 
possession  of  all  the  farmer's  property,  returned  home  for  his 
mother,  and  lived  free  from  care  or  further  sorrow  for  the  re- 
mainder of  his  happy  life ;  but  he  never  forgot  the  services  of  the 
greyhound  and  never  allowed  her  to  want. 


PEGGY  THE   PISHOGUE.  1 27 


PEGGY  THE  PISHOGUE. 


••And  now,  Mickey  Brennan,  it's  not  but  I  have  a  grate  re- 
gard  for  you,  for  troth  you're  a  dacint  boy,  and  a  dacint  father 
and  mother's  child  •,.  but  you  see,  avick,  the  short  and  the  long  of 
it  is,  that  you  needn't  be  looking  after  my  little  girl  any  more." 

Such  was  the  conclusion  of  a  long  and  interesting  harangue 
pronounced  by  old  Brian  Moran  of  Lagh-buoy,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  persuading  his  daughter's  sweetheart  to  waive  his  pre- 
tensions— a  piece  of  diplomacy  never  very  easy  to  effect,  but 
doubly  difficult  when  the  couple  so  unceremoniously  separated 
have  labored  under  the  delusiqp  that  they  were  bom  for  each 
other,  as  was  the  case  in  the  affair  of  which  our  story  tells;  and 
certainly,  whatever  Mr.  Michael  Brennan's  other  merits  may 
have  been,  he  was  very  far  from  exhibiting  himself  as  a  pattern 
of  patience  on  the  occasion. 

"Why,  thin,  Brian  Moran  !"  he  outrageously  exclaimed,  "in 
the  name  of  all  that's  out  of  the  way,  will  you  give  me  one  rea- 
son good,  bad,  or  indifferent,  and  I'll  be  satisfied  ?" 

«'Och,  you  unfortunate  gossoon,  don't  be  afther  axing  me," 
responded  Brian  dolefully. 

"Ah,  thin,  why  wouldn't  I?"  replied  the  rejected  lover. 
"  Aren't  we  playing  together  since  she  could  walk — wasn't  she 
the  light  of  my  eyes  and  the  pulse  of  my  heart  these  six  long 
years — and  when  did  one  of  ye  ever  either  say  or  sign  that  I  was 
to  give  over  until  this  blessed  minute  ?  tell  me  that." 

"  Widdy  Eelish!"  groaned  the  closely  interrogated  parent; 
"'tis  true  enough  for  you.  Botheration  to  Peggy,  I  wish  she 
tould  you  herself.  I  knew  how  it  'ud  be;  an'  sure  small  blame 
to  you;  an'  it'll  kill  Meny  out  an'  out." 


liS  THE   ZOZIMUS  PAPERS. 

*'  Is  it  that  I  amn't  rich  enough  ?"  he  asked  impetuously. 

"No,  avick  machree,  it  isn't;  but,  sure,  can't  you  wait  an'  ax 
Peggy  ?" 

"  Is  it  because  there's  anything  against  me  ?"  continued  he, 
without  heeding  this  reference  to  the  mother  of  liis  fair  one — "  Is 
it  because  there's  anything  against  me,  I  say,  now  or  evermore, 
in  the  shape  of  warrant,  or  summons,  or  bad  word,  or  anything 
of  the  kind?'' 

" Och, /orfc'ar, /orrt;ar /"  answered  poor  Brian,  "but  can't 
you  ax  Peggy  ?"  and  he  clasped  his  hands  again  and  again  with 
bitterness,  for  the  young  man's  interest  had  been,  from  long  and 
constant  habit,  so  interwoven  in  his  mind  with  those  of  his  darling 
Meny,  that  he  was  utterly  unable  to  check  the  burst  of  agony 
which  the  question  had  excited.  The  old  man's  evident  grief  and 
evasion  of  the  question  were  not  lost  upon  his  companion. 

**  I'm  belied — I  know  I  am — I  have  it  all  know,"  shouted  he, 
utterly  losing  all  command  of  himself.  "  Come,  Brian  Moran, 
this  is  no  child's  play — tell  me  at  once  who  dared  to  spake  one 
word  against  me,  an'  if  I  don't  drive  the  lie  down  his  throat,  be 
it  man,  woman,  or  child,  I'm  willing  to  lose  her  and  everything 
else  I  care  for  !" 

"No,  then,"  answered  Brian,  "the  never  a  one  said  a  word 
against  you — you  never  left  it  in  their  power,  avick;  an'  that's 
what's  breaking  my  heart.  Millia  murther,  it's  all  Peggy's  own 
doings." 

"  WTiat !"  he  replied — "  I'll  be  bound  Peggy  had  a  bad  dhrame 
about  the  match.  Arrah,  out  wilh  it,  an'  let  us  hear  what  Peggy 
the  Pishogue  has  to  say  for  herself — out  with  it,  man;  I'm  asthray 
for  something  to  laugh  at." 

"Oh,  whist,  whist — don't  talk  that  way  of  Peggy  anyhow," 
exclaimed  Brian,  offended  by  this  imputation  on  the  unerring 
wisdom  of  his  helpmate.  "Whatever  she  says,  doesn't  it  come 
to  pass  ?  Didn't  it  rain  on  Saturday  last,  fine  as  the  day  looked  ? 
Didn't  Tim  Higgins'  cow  die  ?  Wasn't  Judy  Carney  married  to 
Tom  Knox  aflher  all  ?  Ay,  an'  as  sure  as  your  name  is  Mickey 
Brennan,  what  she  says  will  come  true  of  yourself  too.  Forrear, 
forrear  !  that  the  like  should  befall  one  of  your  decent  kin !" 


PEGGY   THE    PISHOGUK,  1 29 

"Why,  what's  going  to  happen  me  ?"  inquired  he,  his  voice 
trembling  a  little  in  spite  of  all  his  assumed  carelessness,  for  con- 
temptuously as  he  had  alluded  to  the  wisdom  of  his  intended  mother- 
in-law,  it  stood  in  too  high  repute  not  to  create  in  him  some  dis- 
may at  the  probability  of  his  figuring  imfavorably  in  any  of  her 
prognostications. 

"  Don't  ax  me,  don't  ax  me,"  was  the  sorrowing  answer:  "but 
take  your  baste  out  of  the  stable  at  once,  and  go  straight  to 
Father  Coffey ;  and  who  knows  but  he  might  put  you  on  some 
way  to  escape  the  bad  luck  that's  afore  you." 

"  Psha  !  fudge  !  'pon  my  sowl  it's  a  shame  for  you,  Brian  Mo- 
ran. 

"  Divil  a  word  of  lie  in  it,"  insisted  Brian;  "Peggy  found  it 
all  out  last  night;  an'  troth  it's  troubling  her  as  much  as  if  you 
were  her  own  flesh  and  blood.  More  betoken,  haven't  you  a 
mole  there  under  your  ear?" 

"  Well,  and  what  if  I  have  ?"  rejoined  he,  peevishly,  but  alanned 
all  the  while  by  the  undisguised  pity  which  his  future  lot  seemed 
to  call  forth.  "  What  if  I  have  ? — hadn't  many  a  man  the 
same  afore  me?" 

"  No  doubt,  Mickey,  agra,  and  the  same  bad  luck  came  to 
them  too,"  replied  Biian.  "  Och,  you  unfortunate,  ignorant 
crathur,  sure  you  wouldn't  have  me  marry  my  poor  little  girl  to  a 
man  that's  sooner  or  later  to  end  his  days  on  the  gallows !" 

"  The  gallows !"  he  slowly  exclaimed.  "  Holy  Virgin  !  is 
that  what's  to  become  of  me  after  all?"  He  tried  to  utter  a 
laughof  derision  and  defiance,  but  it  would  not  do;  such  a  vati- 
cination from  such  a  quarter  was  no  laughing  matter.  So  yield- 
ing at  last  to  the  terror  which  he  had  so  vainly  affected  to  com- 
bat, he  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  threw  himself  violently 
on  the  ground;  while  Brian,  scarcely  less  moved  by  the  reve- 
lation he  had  made  on  the  faith  of  his  wife's  far-famed  sagacity, 
seated  himself  compassionately  beside  him  to  administer  what 
consolation  he  could. 

Whatever  may  be  the  opinion  of  other  and  wiser  people  on  the 
subject,  ui  the  parish  of  Ballycoursey  or  its  vicinity  it  was  rather 


130  THE   ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

an  ugly  joke  to  be  thus  devoted  to  the  infernal  gods  by  a  prophet- 
ess of  such  unerring  sagacity  as  Peggy  RIoran,  or,  as  she  was 
sometimes  styled  with  reference  to  her  skill  in  all  supernatural 
matters,  Peggy  the  Pishogue — that  cogmmen  implying  an  ac- 
quaintance with  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth  than  are  dreamt 
of  in  philosophy.  Nothing  was  too  great  or  too  small  for  her 
all-piercing  ken — in  every  form  of  augury  she  was  omniscient, 
from  cup-tossing  up  to  necromancy — in  vain  the  mystic  dregs  of 
the  tea-cup  assumed  shapes  that  would  have  puzzled  Doctor 
Wall  himself:  with  her  first  glance  she  detected  at  once  the  true 
meaning  of  the  hieroglyphic  symbol,  and  therefrom  dealt  out 
deaths,  births  and  marriages  with  the  infallibility  of  a  news- 
paper. 

The  hardest  task  of  all  is  to  describe  the  feelings  of  poor  Bren- 
nan  himself  011  the  occasion;  for  much  as  he  had  affected  to  dis- 
parage the  sibylline  revelations  of  the  weird  woman  of  Bally- 
coursey,  there  was  no  one  in  the  neighborhood  who  was  more  dis- 
posed to  yield  them  unlimited  credence  in  any  case  but  his  own; 
and  even  in  his  own  case  he  was  not  long  enabled  to  struggle 
against  conviction.  How  could  he  be  expected  to  bear  up 
against  this  terrible  denunciation,  when  all  the  consolation  he 
could  receive  from  his  nearest  and  dearest  was  that  "it  was  a 
good  man's  death  "  ?  Death!  poor  fellow,  he  had  suffered  the 
pains  of  a  thousand  deaths  already,  in  living  without  the  hope 
of  ever  being  the  husband  of  his  Meny.  Death,  instant  and  im- 
mediate, would  have  Ix^en  a  relief  to  him;  and  it  was  not  long 
until,  by  his  anxiety  to  obtain  that  relief,  he  afforded  an  opportu- 
nity to  Peggy  of  displaying  her  own  reliance  on  the  correctness 
of  her  prognostications.  Goaded  into  madness  by  his  present 
sufferings  and  his  fears  for  the  future,  he  made  an  attempt  upon 
his  life  by  plunging  into  an  adjacent  lake  jvhen  no  one,  as  he 
thought,  was  near  to  interrupt  his  intentions.  It  was  not  so,  how- 
ever — a  shepherd  had  observed  him,  but  at  such  a  distance  that 
before  help  could  be  obtained  to  rescue  him  he  was  to  all  appear- 
ance lifeless.  The  news  flew  like  wildfire:  he  was  dead,  stone 
dead,  they  said — had  lain  in  the  water  ten  minutes,  half  an  hour. 


PEGGY    THE    PISHOGUE.  '         I3I 

half  the  day,  since  last  night;  but  in  one  point  they  all  con- 
curred— dead  he  was;  dead  as  St.  Dominick. 

"Troth,  he's  not,"  was  Peggy's  cool  rejoinder.  "Be  quiet, 
and  I'll  engage  he'll  come  to.  Nabocklish,  he  that's  bom  to 
be  hanged  will  never  be  drowned.  Wait  awhile  an'  hould  your 
tongues.  Nabocklish,  I  tell  you  he'll  live  to  spoil  a  market  yet, 
an'  more's  the  pity." 

People  shook  their  heads,  and  almost  began  to  think  their  wse 
woman  had  made  a  mistake,  and  read  hemp  instead  of  water. 
It  was  no  such  thing,  however:  slowly,  and  beyond  all  hopes, 
Brennan  recovered  the  effects  of  his  rash  attempt,  thereby  fulfill- 
ing so  much  of  his  declared  destiny,  and  raising  the  reputation 
of  Mrs.  Moran  to  a  point  that  she  never  had  attained  before. 
That  very  week  she  discovered  no  less  than  six  cases  of  stolen 
goods,  twice  detected  the  good  people  taking  unauthorized  liber- 
ties with  their  neighbors'  churns,  and  spaed  a  score  of  fortunes,  at 
the  very  least;  and  he,  poor  fellow,  satisfied  at  last  that  Fortune 
was  not  to  be  bilked  so  easily,  resigned  himself  to  his  fate  like  a 
man,  and  began  to  look  about  him  in  earnest  for  some  opportu- 
nity of  gracing  the  gallows  without  disgracing  his  people. 

And  Mcny — poor,  heart-stricken  Meny — loving  as  none  but  the 
true  and  simple-minded  can  love,  the  extent  of  her  grief  was 
such  as  the  trae  and  simple-minded  only  can  know;  and  yet 
there  was  worse  in  store  for  her.  Shortly  after  this  consummation 
of  her  mother's  fame,  a  whisper  began  to  creep  through  the  vil- 
lage— a  whisper  of  dire  import,  portending  death  and  disaster  on 
some  luckless  wight  unknown — "Peggy  Moran  has  something 
on  her  mmd."  What  could  it  be?  Silent  and  mysterious  she 
shook  her  head  when  any  one  ventured  to  question  her;  the  pipe 
was  never  out  of  her  jaw  unless  when  she  slept  or  sat  down  to 
her  meals;  she  became  as  cross  as  a  cat,  which,  to  do  her  justice,  was 
not  her  wont,  and  eschewed  all  sorts  of  conversation,  which  most 
assuredly  was  not  her  wont  either.  The  interest  and  curiosity  of 
her  neighbors  were  raised  to  a  most  agonizing  pitch;  every  one 
trembled  lest  the  result  should  be  some  terrible  revelation  affect- 
ing himself  or  herstlf,  as  the  case  might  be:  it  was  the  burden  of 


132  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

the  first  question  asked  in  the  morning,  the  last  at  night.  Every 
word  she  uttered  during  the  day  was  matter  of  speculation  lo  a 
hundred  anxious  inquirers;  and  there  was  every  danger  of  the 
good  people  of  Ballycourscy  going  absolutely  mad  with  fright  if 
they  were  kept  any  longer  in  the  dark  on  the  subject. 

At  length  there  was  a  discovery;  but,  as  is  usually  the  case  in 
all  scrutinies  into  forbidden  matters,  it  was  at  the  cost  of  the  too- 
daring  investigator.  Peggy  and  Brian  were  sitting  one  night  be- 
fore the  fire,  preparing  for  their  retirement,  when  a  notion  seized 
tlie  latter  to  probe  the  soitows  of  his  helpmate. 

•*  'Deed  it  well  becomes  you  to  ax,"-  quoth  the  weird  woman,  in 
answer  to  his  many  and  urgent  inquiries;  "  for  Brian,  achorra 
machree,  my  poor  ould  man,  there's  no  use  in  hiding  it — it's  all 
about  yourself." 

"No,  then!"  exclaimed  the  surprised  interrogator;  "the  Lord 
betune  us  an'  harm,  is  it  ?" 

••  'Deed  yes,  Brian,"  responded  the  sibyl  with  a  melancholy 
tone,  out  of  the  cloud  of  smoke  in  which  she  had  sought  to  hide 
her  troubles.  "  I'm  thinking  these  last  few  days  you're  not  your- 
self at  all  at  all." 

"Tare  an  ounties!  maybe  I'm  not,"  responded  he  of  the 
doubtful  identity, 

"Do  you  feel  nothing  on  your  heart,  Brian  achree  ?" 
"I  do;  sure  enough   I  do,"  gasped  poor  Brian,  ready  to  be- 
lieve anything  of  himself. 

*' Something  like  a ////rr/jy,  isn't  it?"   inquired  the  mourner. 
"  Ay,  sure  enough,  like  a  plurrisy  for  all  the  world,  Lord  be- 
tune us  an'  harm  !" 

"An' you  do  be  very  cold,  I'll  engage,  these  nights,  Brian?" 
continued  she. 

"  Widd)' Eclish  !  I'm  as  cowld  as  ice  this  minute,"  answered 
Brian,  and  his  teeth  began  to  chatter  as  if  he  was  up  to  his  neck  in 
a  mill-pond. 

"An'  your  appetite  is  gone  entirely,  achra?"  continued  his 
tormentor. 

•*  Sorra  a  word  o'  lie  in  it,"  answered  the  newly  discovered  in- 


PEGGY  THE   PISHOGUE.  I33 

valid,  forgetful,  however,  that  he  had  just  finished  discussing  a 
skib  of  potatoes  and  a  mug  of  milk  for  his  supper. 

"  And  the  cat,  the  cratlmr,  looked  at  you  this  very  night  after 
licking  her  paw." 

"I'll  engage  she  did.  Bad  luck  to  her,"  responded  Brian, 
"  1  wouldn't  put  it  beyant  her." 

"Let  me  feel  your  pulse,  asthore,"  said  Peggy  in  conclusion; 
and  Brian  submitted  his  trembling  wrist  to  her  inspection,  anx- 
iously peering  into  her  face  all  the  while  to  read  his  doom  there- 
in. A  long  and  deep  sigh  broke  from  her  lips,  along  with  a  most 
voluminous  puff  of  smoke,  as  she  let  the  lim')  drop  from  her  hold 
and  commenced  rocking  herself  to  and  fro,  uttering  a  low  and  pe- 
culiar species  of  moan,  which  to  her  terrified  patient  sounded  as 
a  death  summons. 

"  Murther-an'-ages,  Peggy,  sure  it's  not  going  to  die  1  am  !" 
exclaimed  Brian. 

"  Och,  widdy  !  widdy  !"  roared  the  afflicted  spouse,  now  giv- 
ing full  vent  to  her  anguish.  "It's  little  I  thought,  Brian  asthore 
machree,  when  I  married  you  in  your  beauty  and  your  prime, 
that  I'd  ever  live  to  cry  the  keen  over  you — ochone,  ochone  !  'tis 
you  was  the  good  ould  man  in  airnest — och  !  och  !" 

"  Arrah,  Peggy  !"  interposed  the  object  of  her  rather  prema- 
ture lamentations. 

"Oh,  don't  talk  to  me — don't  talk  to  me.  I'll  never  hould 
up  my  head  again,  so  I  won't !"  continued  the  widow  that  was 
to  be,  in  a  tone  that  quickly  brought  all  the  house  about  her,  and 
finally  all  the  neighbors.  Great  was  the  uproar  that  ensued,  and 
noisy  the  explanation,  which,  however,  afforded  no  small  relief 
to  the  minds  of  all  persons  not  immediately  concerned  in  the  wel- 
fare of  the  doomed  Brian.  Peggy  was  inconsolable  at  the  pros- 
pect of  such  a  bereavement.  Meny  clung  in  despair  to  the  poor  tot- 
tering old  man,  her  grief  too  deep  for  lamentation,  while  he  hob- 
bled over  his  prayers  as  fast  and  as  correctly  as  his  utter  dismay 
would  permit  him.  Next  morning  he  was  unable  to  rise,  refused 
all  nourishment,  and  called  vehemently  for  the  priest.  Every 
hour  he  became  worse;  he  was  out  of  one  faint  into  another;  an- 


134  THE   ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

noonced  symptoms  of  every  complaint  that  ever  vexed  mankind, 
and  declared  himself  affected  by  a  pain  in  every  member,  from 
his  toe  to  his  cranium.  No  wonder  it  was  a  case  to  puzzle  the 
doctor.  The  mm  of  science  could  make  nothing  of  it— swore  it 
was  the  oddest  complication  of  diseases  that  ever  he  had  heard 
of — and  strongly  recommended  that  the  patient  be  tossed  in  a 
blanket,  and  his  wife  treated  to  a  taste  of  the  horse-pond.  Father 
Coffey  was  equally  nonplused. 

♦«  WTiat  ails  you,  Brian  ?" 

"An  all-overness  of  some  kind  or  other,  your  reverence," 
groaned  the  sufferer  in  reply,  and  the  priest  had  to  own  himself 
a  bothered  man.  Nothing  would  induce  him  to  rise — "  Where's 
the  use  in  a  man's  gettin'  up,  an'  he  goin'  to  die?"  was  his  an- 
swer to  those  who  endeavored  to  rouse  him — "isn't  it  a  dale 
dacinler  to  die  in  bed  like  a  Christian  ?" 

"God's  good  !  — mnybe  you  won't  die  this  time,  Brian." 

"Arrah,  don't  be  talking — doesn't  Peggy  know  best?"  And 
with  this  undeniable  assertion  he  closed  all  his  arguments,  re- 
ceiving consolation  from  none,  not  even  his  heart-broken  Meny. 
Despite  of  all  his  entreaties  to  be  let  die  in  peace,  the  doctor, 
who  guessed  how  matters  stood,  was  determined  to  try  the 
effects  of  a  blister,  and  accordingly  applied  one  of  more  than 
ordinary  strength,  stoutly  affirming  that  it  would  have  the  effect  of 
the  patient  being  up  and  walking  on  the  morrow.  A  good  many 
people  had  gathered  into  his  cabin  to  witness  the  cure,  as  they 
always  do  when  their  presence  could  be  best  dispensed  with;  and 
to  these  Peggy,  with  tears  and  moans,  was  declaring  her  despair 
in  all  remedies  whatever,  and  her  firm  conviction  that  a  widow 
she'd  be  before  Sunday,  when  Brian,  roused  a  little  by  the  un- 
easy stimulant  from  the  lethargy  into  which  they  all  believed 
him  to  be  sunk,  faintly  expressed  his  wish  to  be  heard. 

"Peggy,  agra,"  said  he,  "there's  no  denyin'  but  you're  a 
wonderful  woman  entirely;  an'  since  I'm  goin',  it  would  be  a 
great  consolation  to  me  if  you'd  tell  us  all  how  you  found  out  the 
sickness  was  on  me  af  jre  I  knew  it  myself.  It's  just  curiosity, 
agra — I  wouldn't  like  to  die,  you  see,  without  knowin'  for  why 


PEGGY  THE    PISHOGUE.  135 

an'  for  what — it  'ud  have  a  foolish  look  if  anybody  axed  me  what 
1  died  of,  an'  me  not  able  to  tell  them." 

Peggy  declared  her  willingness  to  do  him  t'lis  last  favor,  and, 
interrupted  by  an  occasional  sob,  thus  proceeded: 

"It  was  Thursday  night  week — troth,  I'll  never  forget  that 
night,  Brian  asthore,  if  I  live  to  be  as  ould  as  Noah — an'  it  was 
just  after  my  first  sleep  that  I  fell  draming.  I  thought  I  went 
down  to  Dan  Keefe's  to  buy  a  taste  ov  mate,  for  ye  all  know  he 
killed  ^bullsheen  that  day  for  the  market  ov  Moneen ;  an'  I  thought 
when  I  went  into  his  house,  what  did  I  see  hangin'  up  but  an  ug- 
ly lane  carcass,  an'  not  a  bit  too  fresh  neither,  an'  a  strange  man 
dividin'  it  with  a  hatchet;  an'  says  he  to  me  with  a  mighty  grum 
look: 

*'  '  Well,  honest  woman,  what  do  you  want  ? — is  it  to  buy  bull- 
sheen?' 

" '  Yes,'  says  I,  '  but  not  the  likes  of  that — it's  not  what  we're 
used  to.' 

"  •  Divil  may  care,'  says  he;  '  I'll  make  bould  to  cut  out  a  rib 
for  you.' 

•"  Oh,  don't  if  you  plase,'  says  I,  puttin'  out  my  hand  to 
stop  him;  an'  with  that  what  docs  he  do  but  he  lifts  the  hatchet 
an'  makes  a  blow  at  my  hand,  an'  cuts  the  weddin'  ring  in  two 
on  my  finger !" 

"  Dth  !  dth  !  dlh  !"  was  ejaculated  on  all  sides  by  her  wonder- 
ing auditory,  for  the  application  of  the  dream  to  Brian  was  con- 
clusive, according  to  the  popular  method  of  explaining  such 
matters.  They  looked  round  to  see  how  he  sustained  the  brunt 
of  such  a  fatal  revelation.  There  he  was  sitting  bolt  upright  in 
the  bed,  notwithstanding  his  unpleasant  incumbrance,  his  mouth 
and  eyes  wide  open. 

"Why,  thin,  blur-an'-ages,  Peggy  Moran,"  he  slowly  ex- 
claimed, when  he  and  they  had  recovered  a  little  from  their  sur- 
prise, "  do  you  mane  to  tell  me  that's  all  that  ailed  me  ?" 

Peggy  and  her  coterie  started  back  as  he  uttered  this  extraor- 
dinary inquiry,  there  being  something  in  his  look  that  portended 
his  intention  to  leap  out  of  bed,  and  probably  display  his  indig- 


136  THE   ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

nation  a  little  too  forcibly,  for,  quiet  as  he  was,  his  temper  wasn't 
proof  against  a  blister;  but  his  bodily  strength  failed  him  in  the 
attempt,  and,  roaring  with  pain,  he  resumed  his  recumbent  posi- 
tion. But  Peggy's  empire  was  over — the  blister  had  done  its 
business,  and  in  a  few  days  he  was  able  to  stump  about  as  usual, 
threatening  to  inflict  all  sorts  of  punisliment  upon  any  one  who 
dared  to  laugh  at  him.  A  laugh  is  a  thing,  however,  not  easy 
to  be  controlled,  and  finally  poor  Brian's  excellent  temper  was 
soured  to  such  a  degree  by  the  ridicule  which  he  encountered, 
that  he  determined  to  seek  a  reconciliation  witli  young  Brennan, 
pitch  the  decrees  of  fate  to  Old  Nick,  and  give  Father  Coffey  a 
job  with  the  young  couple. 

To  this  resolution  we  are  happy  to  say  he  adhered:  still 
happier  are  we  to  say,  that  among  the  county  records  we  have 
not  yet  met  the  name  of  his  son-in-law,  and  that  unless  good 
behavior  and  industry  be  declared  crimes  worthy  of  bringing 
their  perpetrator  to  the  gallows,  there  is  very  little  chance  indeed 
of  Mickey  Brennan  fulfilling  the  prophecy  of  Peggy  the  Pishogue. 


AN   IRISH    DANCING-MASTER.  I37 


AN  IRISH  DANCING-MASTER. 


In  those  racy  old  times,  when  the  manners  and  usages  of  Irish- 
men were  more  simple  tlian  they  are  at  present,  dancing  was 
cultivated  as  one  of  the  chief  amusements  of  life,  and  the  dancing- 
master  looked  upon  as  a  person  essentially  necessary  to  the  proper 
enjoyment  of  our  national  recreation.  He  eked  out  a  precarious 
but  generally  contented  existence  by  developing  in  the  young 
those  graces  of  manner,  the  possession  of  which  was  his  constant 
and  proudest  boast.  At  one  time  he  led  a  sort  of  vagabond  life, 
wandering  from  house  to  house;  but  generally  he  managed  to 
collect  together  a  number  of  the  youth  of  both  sexes,  and,  as 
master  of  a  dancing-school,  lorded  it  over  them  with  all  the  dig- 
nity at  his  command. 

One  of  the  most  ami. sing  specimens  of  the  dancing-master 
that  I  ever  met,  was  a  person  who  bore  the  nickname  of  Buck- 
ram-Back. 

He  was  a  dapper,  light  little  fellow,  with  a  rich  Tipperary 
brogue,  crassed  by  a  lofty  strain  of  illegitimate  English,  which 
he  picked  up  whilst  in  the  army.  His  habiliments  sat  as  tight 
upon  him  as  he  could  readily  wear  them,  and  were  all  of  the 
sliabby-genteel.  class.  His  crimped  black  coat  was  a  closely 
worn  second-hand",  and  his  crimped  face  quite  as  much  of  a 
second-hand  as  the  coat.  I  think  I  see  his  little  pumps,  little 
white  stockings,  liis  coaxed  drab  breeches,  his  hat,  smart  in  its 
cock  but  brushed  to  a  polish  and  standing  upon  three  hairs,  to- 
getlrer  with  his  tight  questionably  colored  gloves,  all  before  me. 
Certainly  he  was  the  jauntiest  little  cock  living — quite  a  blood, 
ready  to  fight  any  man,  and  a  great  defender  of  the  fair  sex, 
whom  he  never  addressed  except  in  that  highflown,  bombastic 
Style  so  agreeable  to  most  of  them,  called  by  their  flatterers  the 


138  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

complimentary,  and  by  their  friends  the  fulsome.  He  was, 
ill  fact,  a  public  man,  and  up  to  everything.  You  met  him  at 
every  fair,  where  he  only  had  time  to  give  you  a  wink  as  he 
passed,  being  just  then  engaged  in  a  very  particular  affair ;  but 
he  would  tell  you  again.  At  cockfights  he  was  a  very  busy  per- 
sonage, and  an  angry  better  from  half  a  crown  downwards.  At 
races  he  was  a  knowing  fellow,  always  shook  hands  with  the 
winning  jockey,  and  then  looked  pompously  about,  tliat  folks 
might  see  that  he  was  hand  and  glove  with  those  who  knew 
something. 

The  house  where  Buckram-Back  kept  his  dancing  school, 
which  was  open  only  after  the  hours  of  labor,  was  an  uninhabited 
cabm,  the  roof  of  which,  at  a  particular  spot,  was  supported  by  a 
post  that  stood  upright  from  the  floor.  It  was  built  upon  an 
elevated  situation,  and  commanded  a  fine  view  of  the  whole 
country  for  miles  about  it.  A  pleasant  sight  it  was  to  see  the 
modest  and  pretty  girls,  dressed  in  their  best  frocks  and  ribbons, 
radiating  in  lilde  groups  from  all  directions,  accompanied  by 
their  partners  or  lovers,  making  way  through  the  fragrant  sum- 
mer fields  of  a  calm  cloudless  evening,  to  this  happy  scene  of 
iimocent  amusement. 

And  yet  what  an  epitome  of  general  life,  with  its  passions, 
jealousies,  plots,  calumnies  and  contentions,  did  this  little  seg- 
ment of  society  present !  There  was  the  shrew,  the  slattern,  the 
coquette  and  the  prude  as  sharply  marked  within  this  their  hum- 
ble sphere,  as  if  they  appeared  on  the  world's  wider  stage,  with 
half  its  wealth  and  all  its  temptations  to  draw  forth  their  prevail- 
ing foibles.  There,  too,  was  the  bully,  the  rake,  the  liar,  the 
coxcomb  and  the  coward,  each  as  perfect  and  distinct  in  his  kind  as 
if  he  had  run  through  a  lengthened  course  of  fashionable  dissipation, 
or  spent  a  fortune  in  acquiring  his  particular  character.  The  ele- 
ments of  the  human  heart,  however,  and  the  passions  that  make 
up  the  general  business  of  life,  are  the  same  in  high  and  low,  and 
exist  with  impulses  as  strong  in  the  cabin  as  they  have  in  the 
palace.  The  only  difference  is,  that  they  have  not  equal  room 
to  play. 


AN   IRISH    DANCINU-MASTKR.  1 39 

Buckram-Back's  sysfcm,  in  originality  of  design,  in  comic  con- 
ception of  decorum,  and  in  the  easy  practical  assurance  with 
which  he  wrought  it  out,  was  never  equalled,  much  less  surpassed. 
Had  the  impudent  little  rascal  confined  himself  to  dancing  as 
nsually  taught,  there  would  have  been  nothing  so  ludicrous  or 
uncommon  in  it;  but  no:  he  was  such  a  stickler  for  example  in 
everything,  that  no  other  mode  of  instruction  would  satisfy 
bim.  Dancing  !  Why,  it  was  the  least  part  of  what  he  taught 
or  professed  to  teach. 

In  the  first  place,  he  undertook  to  teach  every  one  of  us — for  I 
had  the  honor  of  being  his  pupil — how  to  enter  a  drawing-room 
"in  the  most  fashionable  manner  alive,"  as  he  said  himself. 

Secondly.  He  was  the  only  man,  he  said,  who  could  in  the 
most  agreeable  and  polite  style  taich  a  gintleman  how  to  salute, 
or,  as  he  termed  it,  how  to  shiloote,  a  leedy.  This  he  taught, 
he  said,  wid  great  success. 

Thirdly.  He  could  taich  every  leedy  and  gintleman  how  to 
make  the  most  beautiful  bow  or  curchy  on  airth,  by  only  imitat- 
ing himself — one  that  would  cause  a  thousand  people,  if  they 
were  all  present,  to  think  that  it  was  particularly  intended  only 
for  aich  o'  themselves  ! 

Fourthly.  He  taught  the  whole  art  o'  courtship  wid  all  polite- 
ness and  success,  accordin'  as  it  was  practiced  in  Paris  durin'  the 
last  saison. 

Fifthly.  He  cDuld  taich  thim  how  to  wriCe  love-letthers  and 
valentines,  accordin'  to  the  Great  Macademetian  compliments, 
which  was  supposed  to  be  invinted  by  Bonaparte  when  he  was 
writing  love-letthers  to  both  his  wives. 

Sixthly.  He  was  the  only  person  who  could  taich  the  famous 
dance  called  Sir  Roger  de  Coverly,  or  the  Heller-Skelter  Drag, 
which  comprehinded  widin  itself  all  the  advantages  and  beauties 
of  his  whole  system— in  which  every  gintleman  was  at  liberty  to  ' 
pull  every  leedy  where  he  plaised,  and  every  leedy  was  at  liberty 
to  go  wherever  he  pulled  her. 

With  such  advantages  in  prospect,  and  a  method  of  instruction 
«o  agreeable,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  his  establishment 


I40  THE   ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

was  always  in  a  most  flourishingcondition.  The  truth  is,  he  had 
so  contrived  that  every  gentleman  should  salute  his  lady  as  often 
as  possible,  and  for  this  purpose  actually  invented  dances,  in 
which  not  only  should  every  gentleman  salute  every  lady,  but 
every  lady,  by  way  of  returning  the  compliment,  should  render 
a  similar  kindness  to  every  gentleman.  Nor  had  his  male  pupils 
all  his  prodigality  of  salutation  to  themselves,  for  the  amorous 
little  rascal  always  commenced  first  and  ended  last,  in  order,  he 
said,  that  they  might  cotch  the  manner  from  himself.  "  I  do 
this,  leedies  and  gintlemen,  as  your  moral  (model),  and  because 
it's  part  o'  my  system — ahem  !" 

And  then  he  would  perk  up  his  little  hard  face,  that  was  too 
barren  to  produce  more  than  an  abortive  smile,  and  twirl  like  a 
wagtail  over  the  floor,  in  a  manner  that  he  thought  irresistible. 

Whether  Buckram-Back  was  the  only  man  who  tried  to  reduce 
kissing  to  a  system  of  education  in  this  country,  I  do  not  know. 
It  is  certainly  true  that  many  others  of  his  stamp  made  a  knowl- 
edge of  the  arts  and  modes  of  courtship,  like  him,  a  part  of  the 
course.  The  forms  of  love-letters,  valentines,  etc.,  were  taught 
their  pupils  of  both  sexes,  with  many  other  polite  particulars, 
which  it  is  to  be  hoped  have  disappeared  forever. 

One  thing,  however,  to  the  honor  of  our  countrywomen  we  are 
bound  to  observe,  which  is,  that  we  do  not  remember  a  single  re- 
sult incompatible  with  virtue  to  follow  from  the  little  fellow's 
system,  which  by  the  way  was  in  this  respect  peculiar  only  to 
himself,  and  not  the  general  custom  of  the  country.  Several 
weddings,  unquestionably,  we  had,  more  than  might  otherwise 
have  taken  place,  but  in  not  one  instance  have  we  known  any 
case  in  whicli  a  female  was  brought  to  unhappiness  or  shame. 

We  shall  now  give  abrief  sketch  of  Buckram-Back's  manner  of 
tuition,  begging  our  readers  at  the  same  time  to  rest  assured  that 
any  sketch  we  could  give  would  fall  far  short  of  the  original. 

"  Paddy  Corcoran,  walkout  an'  '  inther  your  drawin'-room;' 
an'  let  Miss  Judy  Hanratty  go  out  along  wid  you,  an'  come  in 
as  Mrs.  Corcoran." 

•'  Faith,  I'm  afeard,  masther,  I'll  make  a  bad  hand  of  it;  but. 


AN    IRISH    DANCING-MASTER.  I4I 

sure,  it's  something  to  have  Judy  here  to  keep  me  in  countenance. ' ' 
♦'  Is  that  by  way  of  compliment,  Paddy  ?     Mr.  Corcoran,  you 
should  ever  an'  always  spaik  to  a  leedy  in  an  alyblasther  tone, 
for  that's  the  cut."  \Paddy  and  Judy  retire. 

"  Mickey  Scanlan,  come  up  here,  now  that  we're  braithin' 
a  little;  an'  you,  Miss  Grauna  Mulholland,  come  up  along  wid 
him.  Miss  Mulholland,  you  are  masther  of  your  five  positions 
and  your  fifteen  attitudes,  I  believe?"  "Yes,  sir."  "Very 
■well,  Miss.  Mickey  Scanlan — ahem  ! — iJ/wZ-iisr  Scanlan,  can^^^w 
perfome  the  positions  also,  Mickey  ?" 

"Yes,  sir;  but  you  remimber  I  stuck  at  the  eleventh  altitude." 
"Attitude,  sir — no  matther.     Well,  Misther  Scanlan,  do  you 
know  how  to  shiloote  a  leedy,  Mickey  ?" 

"Faix,  it's  hard  to  say,  sir,  till  we  thry;  but  I'm  very  willin' 
to  lam  it.     I'll  do  my  best,  an'  the  best  can  do  no  more." 

"Very  well — aheml  Now  merk  me,  Misther  Scanlan;  you 
approach  your  leedy  in  this  style,  bowin'  politely,  as  I  do.  'Miss 
Mulholland,  will  you  allow  me  the  honor  of  a  heavenly  shiloote  ?' 
Don't  bow,  ma'am;  you  are  to  curchy,  you  know;  a  littl"  iower 
eefyow.  plaise.  Now  you  say,  'Wid  the  greatest  pleasiut  'a  life, 
sir,  an'  many  thanks  for  the  feevor.'  (Smack.)  There,  nov/,  yon 
are  to  make  another  curchy  politely,  an'  say,  •  Thank  you,  kind 
sir,  I  owe  you  one.'     Now,  Misther  Scanlan,  proceed." 

"  I'm  to  imitate  you,  masther,  as  well  as  I  can,  sir,  I  believe  ?" 
"  Yes,  sir,  you  are  to  imiteet  me.  But  hould,  sir;  did  you  see 
me  lick  my  lips  or  pull  up  my  breeches  ?  Be  gorra,  that's 
shockin'  unswintemintal.  First  make  a  curchy,  a  bow,  I  mane, 
to  Miss  Granna.  Stop  agin,  sir;  you  are  goin'  to  sthrangle  the 
leedy  ?  Why,  one  would  think  that  it's  about  to  teek  laive  of 
her  forever  you  are.  Gently,  Misther  Scanlan;  gently,  Mickey. 
There: — well,  that's  an  improvement.  Practice,  Misther  Scanlan, 
practice  will  do  all,  Mickey;  but  don't  smack  so  loud,  though. 
Hilloo,  gintlemen!  where's  our  drawin'-room  folk?  Go  out,  one 
of  you,  for  Misther  an'  Mrs.  Paddy  Corcoran." 

Corcoran's  face  now  appears  peeping  in  at  the  door,  lit  up  with 
a  comic  expression  of  genuine  fun,  from  whatever  cause  it  may 
have  proceeded. 


142  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

•'  Aisy,  Misther  Corcoran ;  an'  where's  Mrs.  Corcoran,  sir  ?" 

"  Are  we  both  to  come  in  together,  masther?" 

♦•Certainly.  Turn  out  both  your  toeses — turn  them  out,  I 
say." 

'*  Faix,  sir,  it's  aisier  said  than  done  wid  some  of  us." 

"I  know  that,  Misther  Corcoran;  but  practice  is  everything. 
The  bow  legs  are  strongly  against  you,  I  grant.  Hut  tut,  Misther 
Corcoran — why,  if  your  toes  wor  where  your  heels  is,  you'd  be 
exactly  in  the  first  position,  Paddy.  Well,  both  of  you  turn  out 
your  toeses;  look  street  forward;  clap  your  caubeen — ^liem ! — your 
castor  undher  your  ome  (arm),  an'  walk  into  the  middle  of  the 
flure,  wid  your  head  up.  Stop,  take  care  o'  the  post.  Now,  take 
your  caubeen,  castor,  I  mane,  in  your  right  hand;  give  it  a  flour- 
ish. Aisy,  Mrs.  Hanratty — Corcoran  I  mane — it's  not^^M  that's 
to  flourish.  Well,  flourish  your  castor,  Paddy,  and  thin  make  a 
graceful  bow  to  the  company.     Leedies  and  gintlemen" — 

'•Leedies  and  gintlemen" — 

«*  I'm  your  most  obadient  sarvint" — 

"I'm  your  most  obadient  sarwint." 

"  Tuts,  man  alive  !  that's  not  a  bow.  Look  at  this:  there^s  a 
bow  for  you.  Why,  instead  of  meeking  a  bow,  you  appear  as  if 
you  wor  goin'  to  sit  down  wid  an  embargo  (lumbago)  in  your 
back.    Well,  practice  is  everything;  and  there's  luck  in  leisure." 

•'  Dick  Doorish,  will  you  come  up,  and  thry  if  you  can  meek 
anything  of  that  threblin'  step.  You're  a  purty  lad,  Dick;  you're 
a  purty  lad,  Misther  Doorish,  wid  a  pair  o'  left  legs  an  you, 
to  expect  to  lam  to  dance;  but  don't  despeer,  man  alive.  I'm 
not  afeard  but  I'll  make  a  graceful  slip  o'  you  yet.  Can  you 
ipeek  a  curchy?" 

"Not  right,  sir,  I  doubt." 

"Well,  sir,  I  know  that;  but,  Misther  Doorish,  you  ought  to 
know  how  to  meek  both  a  bow  an'  a  curchy.  Whin  you  marry 
a  wife,  Misther  Doorish,  it  mightn't  come  wrong  for  you  to  know 
how  to  taich  her  a  curchy.  Have  you  the^j^  an'  suggaun  wid 
you?"  "Yes,  sir."  "Very  well,  on  wid  them;  the  suggaun 
on  the  right  foot,  or  what  ought  to  be  the  right  foot,  an'  the  gad 


AN    IRISH    DANCING-MASTER.  I43 

upon  what  ought  to  be  the  left.  Are  you  ready?"  "  Yes,  sir." 
"Come,  thin,  do  as  I  bid  you — rise  upoa  suggaun  an*  sink  upon 

gad;  rise  upon  suggaun  an' sink  upon  gadj  rise  upon Hould, 

sir;  you're  sinkin'  upon  Guggaun  an'  risin'  upon  gad,  the  very 
thing  you  ought  iwt  to  do.  But,  God  Iiolp  you !  sure  you're 
left-legged  !  Ah,  Misther  Doorish,  it  'ud  be  a  long  lime  before 
you'd  be  able  to  dance  Jig  Polthoguc  or  the  College  Hornpipe 
upon  a  drum-head,  as  I  oflcn  did.  However,  don't  despeer, 
Misther  Doorish — if  I  could  only  get  you  to  know  your  right  leg 
— but,  God  help  you  !  sure  you  haven't  sich  a  thing — from  your 
left,  I'd  make  something  of  you  yet,  Dick." 

The  Irish  dancing-masters  were  cccniiilly  at  daggers-drawn 
among  tlicmselves;  but  as  they  seldom  met,  they  were  forced  to 
abuse  each  other  at  a  distance,  which  they  did  wiih  a  virulence 
and  scurrility  proportioned  to  the  space  between  t'hem.  Buck- 
ram-Back had  a  rival  of  this  description,  who  V/'as  a  sore  thorn 
in  his  side.  His  name  was  Paddy  Fitzpatrick,  and  from  having 
been  a  horse-jockey,  he  gave  up  the  turf,  and  took  to  the  calling 
of  dancing-master.  iJuckrar.i-Back  sent  a  message  to  the  effect 
tliat  '*  if  he  could  not  dance  Jig  Polthogue  on  tlie  drum-heaJ,  he 
had  better  hould  his  tongue  forever."  To  this  Paddy  replied  by 
asking  if  he  was  the  man  to  dance  the  Connaught  Jockey  upon 
the  saddle  of  a  blood  horse,  and  tlie  anim:»l  at  a  three-quarter 
gallop. 

At  length  the  friends  on  each  side,  from  a  natural  love  of  fun, 
prevailed  upon  them  to  decide  their  claims  as  follows: — Each 
master,  v^fith  twelve  of  his  pupils,  was  to  dance  against  his  rival, 
with  twelve  of  his;  the  match  to  come  off  on  the  top  of  Mally- 
bcny  Hill,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  whole  parish.  I  have 
already  mentioned  that  in  Buckram-Back's  school  there  stood 
near  the  middle  of  the  floor  a  post,  which  according  to  some  new 
manoeuvre  of  his  own  was  very  convenient  as  a  guide  to  the  dan- 
cers when  going  through  the  figure.  Now,  at  the  spot  where 
this  post  stood  it  was  necessary  to  make  a  curve,  in  order  to  form 
part  of  the  figure  of  eight,  which  they  were  to  follow;  but  as 
many  of  them  were  rather  impenetrable  to  a  due  conception  of 


144  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

the  line  of  beauty,  he  forced  them  to  turn  round  the  post  rather 
than  make  an  acute  angle  of  it,  which  several  of  them  did.  Hav- 
ing premised  thus  much,  we  proceed  with  our  narrative. 

At  length  they  met,  and  it  would  have  been  a  matter  of  much 
difficulty  to  determine  their  relative  merits,  each  was  such  an  ad- 
mirable match  for  the  other.  When  Buckram-Back's  pupils, 
however,  came  to  perform,  they  found  that  the  absence  of  the 
post  was  their  ruin.  To  the  post  they  had  been  trained — accus- 
tomed;— with  it  they  could  dance;  but  wanting  that,  they  were 
Kke  so  many  ships  at  sea  without  rudders  or  compasses.  Of 
course  a  scene  of  ludicrous  confusion  ensued,  which  turned  the 
laugh  against  poor  Buckram-Back,  who  stood  likely  to  explode 
with  shame  and  venom.     In  fact  he  was  in  an  agony. 

"Gintlemin,  turn  the  post!"  he  shouted,  stamping  upon  the 
ground,  and  clenching  his  little  hands  with  fury;  "leedies,  re- 
mimber  the  post !  Oh,  for  the  honor  of  Kilnahushogue  don't  be 
bate.  The  post!  gintlemen;  leedies,  the  post  if  you  love  me! 
Murdher  alive,  the  post !" 

"Be  gorra,  masther,  the  jockey  will  distance  us,"  replied  Bob 
Magawly ;    "  it's  likely  to  be  the  whinin-post  to  him  anyhow." 

"Any  money,"  shouted  the  little  fellow,  "  any  money  for  long 
Sam  Sallaghan;  he'd  do  the  post  to  the  life.  Mind  it,  boys  dear, 
mind  it  or  we're  lost.  Divil  a  bit  they  heed  me;  it's  a  flock  o' 
bees  or  sheep  they're  like.  Sam  Sallaghan,  where  are  you  ? 
The  post,  you  blackguards  !" 

"Oh,  masther  dear,  if  we  had  even  a  fishin'-rod,  or  a  crow- 
bar, or  a  poker,  we  might  do  yet.  But,  anyhow,  we  had  better 
give  in,  for  it's  only  worse  we're  gettin'." 

At  this  stage  of  the  proceedings  Paddy  came  over  to  him,  and 
making  a  low  bow,  asked  him,  "  Arra,  hov/  do  you  feel,  Misther 
Dogherty  ?"   for  such  was  Buckram-Back's  name. 

"  Sir,"  replied  Buckram-Back,  bowing  low,  however,  in  return, 
"  I'll  take  the  shine  out  o'  you  yet.  Can  you  shiloote  a  leedy 
wid  me  ? — that's  the  chat !  Come,  gintlemen,  show  them  what's 
betther  than  fifty  posts — shiloote  your  partners  like  Irishmen. 
Kilnahushogue  forever !" 


AN    IRISH    DANCING-MASTER.  I45 

The  scene  that  ensued  baffles  all  description.  The  fact  is,  the 
little  fellow  had  them  trained  as  it  were  to  kiss  in  platoons,  and 
the  spectators  were  literally  convulsed  with  laughter  at  this  most 
novel  and  ludicrous  character  which  Buckram-Back  gave  to  his 
defeat,  and  the  ceremony  whL^h  he  introduced-  The  truth  is,  he 
turned  the  laugh  completely  tu^ainst  his  rival,  and  swaggered  off 
the  ground  in  high  spirits,  exclruining,  "  He  know  bow  toshiloote 
a  leedy  !  NVTiy,  the  poor  spalpeen  iicver  kicsed  a:iy  «t)man  b-;c 
his  mother,  an'  her  only  when  she  was  dyin'.  Hurra  for  Kilna- 
hushogue  1" 

Such,  reader,  is  a  slight  and  very  imperfect  sketch  of  an  Irish 
dancing-master,  wliich  if  it  possesses  any  merit  at  ail,  is  to  be 
ascribed  to  the  circumstance  that  it  is  drawii  fnxn  life,  smd  com- 
bines, however  faintly,  aiost  of  tlie  points  esseiitial  to  our  concep- 
tion of  the  character. 


146  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 


A  DANCE  AT  PAT  MALONE'S. 


AS  RELATED  BY  ONE  OF  THE  GUESTS. 


It  was  in  Tullamore  it  all  took  place.  It  wasn't  during  the 
"Rising,"  so  of  course  there  was  no  blood  spilt  or  landlords 
popped;  it  wasn't  of  a  fair  day,  so  of  course  there  was  no  shille- 
lahs  flourished;  nor  even  of  a  market-day,  so  of  course  nobody 
walked  home  unsteadily  on  both  sides  of  the  road,  murmuring, 
"Oh  !  blame  not  the  bard  if  he  fly  to  the  bowers  " — and  who 
could  blame  anybody  of  a  maiket-day  ? — but  it  hapjjened — well, 
I'll  first  tell  you  all  how  it  did  happen. 

Poor  old  Father  Kinsella,  the  Lord  have  mercy  on  him,  that's 
dead  now  long  years  ago,  had  dispersed  a  rousin<f  dance,  held 
over  at  Tim  Regan's,  about  a  day  or  two  after  Christmas, 
for  he  was  very  strict.  Father  Kinsella  was,  and  gave  it  out  on 
the  altar  that  we'd  disgrace  the  holy  times  we  were  in,  and  make 
a  shame  of  the  parish,  by  holding  dances  and  meetings,  and  such 
like  foolish  observations  of  the  great  feasts  of  the  Church,  for  all 
the  world  like  Dr.  Butler's  Catechism,  that  we  all  studied  when 
we  were  little  gossoons,  and  maybe  it  wouldn't  hurt  some  of 
you  here  present  to  study  it  too,  for  all  you  know  about  geom- 
etiy  and  astronomy,  and  the  likes.  Well,  as  I  said,  he  told  us  he 
didn't  like  dances  at  that  time  of  the  year,  and  that  he'd  dis- 
perse every  one  he  heard  about;  so  we  all  inwardly  resolved 
that  we  couldn't  hear  a  whisper  of  such  a  thing  as  a  dance,  since 
his  reverence  as  much  as  forbade  it.  Of  course  that  Lasted  may- 
be only  till  the  next  day,  for  when  we  lost  his  presence  among 
us  we  forgot  all  his  commands,  or,  as  they  say,  "Oat  of  sight, 
out  of  mind." 

At  that  time  I  was  working  for  the  Widow  Walsh,  that  owned 
one  of  the  largest  farms  in  the  whole  country;  a  good-natured 


A    DANCE    AT    PAT    MALONE  S.  I47 

lad/  she  was,  too,  and  the  greatest  woman  for  playing  tricks  that 
I  ever  met  on  either  side  the  Atlantic.  Ned  Murphy  had  charge 
of  the  cows,  the  pi<;s  and  every  tiling  around  generally;  but  I 
was  head  master  of  the  horses,  and  was  surgeon,  sweeper,  stable- 
boy,  coachman,  and  all  rolled  into  one,  and,  to  tell  you  the 
truth,  many  a  time  the  poor  beasts  enjoyed  the  loss  of  their  sup- 
pers to  give  us  an  evening's  sport,  but  we  always  made  it  up  to 
them  in  the  morning  by  giving  them  a  double  breakfast.  At  the 
same  time  Monica  Kelly  was  in  the  kitchen,  and  liked  her  little 
bit  of  sport  as  well  as  any  girl  in  the  parish.  She  married  Ned 
since,  if  you  remember,  and  now  they  have  a  fine  place  "out 
West,"  I've  been  told;  but  in  those  times  it  used  to  bs  war  and 
contest  between  Ned  and  myself  to  see  who'd  finish  np  first  to 
have  Monica  with  him  to  the  dance.  Ned  was  such  a  schemer 
that  he  generally  succeeded,  and  I  had  to  go  in  company  with — 
myself.  At  that  Christmas,  however,  no  one  thought  of  a 
dance  at  all,  till  at  last  it  leaked  out  that  most  probably  there'd 
be  a  sort  of  convivial  meeting  over  at  Pat  Malone's  on  New 
Year's  night — not  a  dance,  oh  no,  not  at  all — but  just  a  sort  of 
social  talk  over  a  glass  of  poteen.  The  youngsters,  however, 
knew  better,  for  if  we  once  got  together  it  would  take  something 
to  keep  the  toes  and  heels  from  circumnavigating — ahem.  Sure 
enough,  good-natured  Pat  would  have  a  dance,  only  it  should 
be  kept  very  quiet — else  if  it  came  to  Father  Kinsella's  ears,  it's 
over  in  the  midst  of  us  he'd  surely  come,  and  then,  indeed,  we'd 
catch  it;  maybe  it's  mention  us  from  the  altar  he  wouLJ,  and, 
dear  knows,  that  would  be  a  terrible  punishment  for  such  a  little 
diversion;  but  he  was  strict  enough  to  do  it.  We  were  all  in 
great  expectation,  for  a  little  stolen  meeting  like  that  will  give 
more  sadsfaction  than  a  common  one  on  the  green,  and  twice 
as  much  as  a  set  and  prepared  regular  dance ;  and  so,  indeed,  did 
this. 

Well,  the  evening  came  round,  and  we  were  all  prepared  to 
go,  and  the  Widow  Walsh  was  quite  agreeable,  only  we  didn't 
tell  her  where  we  were  going — for,  though  she  wouldn't  spoil  our 
sport  under  any  consideration,  still,  she  might  not  let  us  go,  coo- 


148  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

sideling  what  Father  Kinsella  had  said  from  the  altar.  So  we 
thought  she  was  blinded  entirely,  and  we  were  all  in  the  best  of 
^irits,  as  the  story-tellers  say.  Still,  lor  all  that,  she  knew 
where  we  were  going,  only  she  wanted  the  excuse  for  hei-self  if 
the  priest  should  ask  her  about  letting  us  go  to  the  dance.  By 
ill  luck  it  chanced  that  Tom,  her  son,  and  a  couple  of  collegi- 
ans, came  home  from  Maynooth  tha  same  afi;^rnoon,  and  imme- 
diately she  "  sincerely  regretted  "  to  us  that  we'd  have  to  stay 
for  that  evening,  as  she  wanted  us  at  home,  since  Tom  had  ar- 
rived with  his  college  friends.  Oh !  but  we  wished  Tom  and 
his  friends  were  all  ordained  and  each  had  the  largest  parish  in 
Ireland,  so  they  wouldn't  come  round  spoiling  all  our  nicely- 
contrived  plans.  But  there  was  Tom,  and  Peter  Kiusella,  old 
Father  Kinsella's  nephew,  and  another  Maynootliian,  and  it's 
home  we'd  have  to  stay,  and  no  dance  that  evening,  anyhow. 
Oh  !  but  Ned  was  in  the  doldrums,  for  he'd  thought  he'd  sport 
Monica  around  that  evening,  and  now  its  sport  he'd  be  for  all 
the  parish,  for  deceiving  them  like  that.  However,  I  conceived 
a  mighty  nice  plan,  and  when  Ned  and  Monica  heard  it  they 
thought  it  would  be  a  queer  thing  if  it  didn't  succeed.  No  sooner 
thought  and  planned  but  I  went  off  to  put  it  in  execution. 

So  I  called  Master  Tom  one  side — for  it's  great  friends  I  was 
with  him,  inasmuch  as  I  took  care  of  all  the  horses,  and  especially 
of  his  own  mare  Katey — and  says  I: 

•'  Master  Tom,  if  you  please,  wouldn't  you  ask  your  mother, 
and  persuade  her  to  let  us  go  to  the  dance  to-night,  only  she 
doesn't  know  it's  a  dance,  and  I  make  bold  to  ask  you,  knowing 
you'd  like  to  see  us  having  a  little  sport  on  New  Year's  night  ?" 

"  And  Where's  the  dance  to  be  ?"  says  Master  Tom. 

"  Over  at  Pat  Malona's,"  says  I,  "  and  if  you'd  just  put  in  a 
good  word  for  us  to  your  mother  I  know  she'll  let  us  go;  and  it's  in 
fine  condition  I  keep  Katcy  f  :)r  you  now.  Master  Tom,  isn't  it  ?" 
That  about  Katey  was  a  l;ind  of  stern  chaser,  as  they  say  in  the 
navy. 

"But  I  thought  Father  Kinsella  forbade  all  this?" 

"Well,  it's  not  exactly  a  dance,  you  know.  Master  Tom, 
it's  at—" 


A  DANCE    AT   PAT    MALONES,  149 

••  Yes,  I  know,  a  kind  of  a — " 

♦*  Exactly,  Master  Tom,"  says  L 

"A  kind  of  convivial  reception  for  the  devotees  of  Terpsi- 
chore," says  he. 

"Well,  you  know  laest.  Master  Tona;  bat  ask  your  mother  and 
get  us  leave,  anyhow,  and  mayTae  I  don't  know  where  we'd 
come  across  some  fine  jack-hares  to-morrow." 

"Well,"  he  says,  "I'll  do  my  best  for  you.  And  so  my  mother 
is  not  to  know  where  you  are  going — isn't  thut  kind  of  under- 
hand?" 

"Well,  sure,  Master  Tom,  you  know,  out  of  respect — " 

"  Out  of  respect  for  fear  she  would  refuse,  you  think  it  is  bet- 
ter she  should  not  know?  Well,  rest  easy.  I  think  I  can  get 
you  permission,  as  I  have  just  got  home,  and  mother  never  re- 
fuses me  anything  then." 

"  Don't  forget.  Master  Tom,"  says  I. 

**  Never  fear,"  says  he,  and  so  he  weaat  off  t©  get  us  permission 
immediately,  or,  perhaps,  a  little  sooner. 

Well,  when  I  told  Monica  and  Ned,  it's  almost  smother  one 
with  thanks  they  did,  and  Ned  looked  rejoiced,  and  Monica  be- 
gan to  grow  saucy  again — a  sure  sign,  boys,  that  a  girl  is  in  good 
humor. 

Back  came  Master  Tom  and  told  us  it  was  "  all  right,"  as  you 
say  in  America,  and  that  we  needn't  be  very  particular  abomt 
what  time  we  got  baci,  because  he  would  be  answerable  fbc 
everything  to  his  .nother;  and  sore  enough,  as  we  left  the  house, 
we  heard  the  greatest  laughing  up  in  the  parlor,  and  Fatber 
Kinsella's  name  mentioned  once  or  twice,  and  then  we  knew  it 
was  all  correct  and  that  we  had  a  beautiful  night's  sport  bekare  nt. 
Oh  !  boys,  but  it  was  fine  going  along  the  frozeii  road,  the  bright 
stars  overhead;  a  nice,  fine,  dry,  bracing,  crackling  night,  and 
none  of  your  dirty  slush  that  you  have  here  in  New  York,  when 
it  neither  rains,  hails  or  snows,  but  sends  down  a  kind  of  mixture 
and  conglomeration  of  the  three.  Well,  it  was  fine  going  along, 
and  we  laughed  and  chatted  and  talked  of  past  dances,  only  we 
passed  the  priest's  house  like  poachers  would  crawl  by  a  spring- 


.150  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

•gun;  for  Pat  Malone's  was  about  a  half  a  mile  the  other  side,  and 
just  then  Monica  nearly  choked  herself  with  laughing,  and  Ned 
had  to  slap  her  on  the  back  to  bring  her  to,  while  I  walked  along 

.whistling  softly  to  myself,  and  murmuring,  "  I  know  ye  two  would 
like  to  get  rid  of  me,  no  doubt;  but  never  fear,  I'll  stick  to  you 
till  we  get  to  Pat's  anyhow,  and  then  I'll  see  what  I  can  do  for 
myself." 

When  we  came  to  Pat's,  maybe  our  hearts  didn't  jump  ! 
There  was  Pat  himself,  a  good,  easy-going  sort  of  an  industrious 
man,  that  the  vanithee*  and  the  girls  could  wheedle,  coax  or  scold 
to  do  anything  that  would  let  them  have  a  dance  by  all  means; 
but  would  a  good  deal  rather  sit  in  the  back  room  with  a  pipe 
and  some  old  cronies,  to  talk  about  "  Dan  "  O'Coimell  and  the 
Repeal  Bill.  The  vanilhee  herself  would  sit  in  the  middle  of  the 
jport  and  scold  all  the  boys  for  being  too  free  with  the  girls,  and 
then  wink  at  the  girls  to  encourage  the  boys;  tell  the  girls  they 
were  better  hands  at  gallivanting  about  the  country  than  at  spin- 
ning their  wool,  and  then  tell  the  boys — in  secret,  don't  you  mind — 
such  a  lot  of  good,  industrious,  merry -hearted  girls  she  never  came 
across  as  were  in  the  parish  then.  Ah  !  but  we  never  have  such 
old  men  and  women  here  in  America  as  they  do  home  in  Ireland ; 
and  even  when  such  a  jovial  old  man  or  woman  "comes  out," 
it's  change  they  do  entirely,  and  talk  about  nothing  but  what 
they  used  to  do  and  see  "  at  home."  It's  in  the  air,  I  think,  or 
maybe  the  liberty's  too  strong  for  them  and  they  can't  stand  it; 
for  you'll  never  find  such  industrious,  scolding,  laughing,  prais- 
ing, blaming,  comfortable  and  thrifty  old  men  and  women, 
fathers  and  mothers,  out  here  as  at  home.  We  leave  them  all  be- 
hind  us  in  the  green  church-yards  or  in  the  thatched  cabins  when 
we  come  out  here  to  America;  maylje  they're  better  off  where 
they  arc,  and  have  almost  as  much  freedom  and  twice  as  much 
comfort  as  if  they  did  come  out.  But  I'm  making  a  little  turn 
from  the  railroad,  so  I'll  just  come  back  and  tell  you  all  about 
that  night  at  Pat  Malone's,  for  Pal  and  his  wife  were  just  such  a 
good,  hearty  old  Irish  couple. 

*  Woman  of  the  house. 


A    DANCE    AT    PAT    MALONE  S.  I^T 

Well,  as  soon  as  we  opened  the  door  they  all  trooped  up  tO' 
us,  and  then  such  laughing  and  talking  and  nudging  and 
scrooging  and  pinching  as  you  never  saw  before,  except  at  some 
other  dance. 

"Welcome,  Monica,  and  why  didn't  you  come  sooner?" 

"  Is  it  that  good-for-nothing  slob,  Ned,  that's  bringing  you?"' 

"  Arrah  whisht !" 

"Don't  track  the  floor,  Ned;  clean  your  brogues  before  you 
come  in  !" 

"Now  stop  your  impudence,   Tim   Reilly,   or  I'll   be  com- 
pelled^" 

"  Arrah,  who  touched  you?     Maybe  it's  want  me  you  do — " 

"  You  must  be  cold;  come  inside  and  take — " 

"The  biggest  bottle,  Nancy,  that's  on  the  dresser." 

"  Is   the    Widow   Walsh    better    of  the    '  chronics  '   yet,  I 
dunno?" 

"Lame-footed  and  blear-eyed  Ned  Casey — " 

"Flew  through  the  air  like  a  whistle  the  whole  flock,  and 
when — " 

"  I  raised  my  gun  they  were  all—" 

"  Having  the  finest  dance  ever  you  saw  over  at  Phil  McQuaid's, 
the  whole  lot  of  us." 

Well  now,  boys,  you  can  imagine  what  a  jollification  w-e  were 
VI  in  for;  and  the  fiddler  sat  at  one  end  of  the  room,  and  old 
Pat  and  his  cronies  at  the  other,  and  about  t\venty  boys  and 
girls  each  side  crowding  on  two  benches.  They  were  all  fiApjT*,-, 
and  the  fiddler  was  just  striking  up  a  tune,  and  the  boys  ?Sid 
girls  were  all  footing  it  in  high  spirits,  then  comes  more  ornvrJs, 
and  the  dance  stops  for  them  to  come  in  and  join  us;  and  so  it 
was  for  nearly  an  hour,  when  at  last  we  got  fairly  sLirted.  And 
then  whe.i  we  did  get  started,  why,  we  made  Pat  and  his  old 
cronies  give  up  their  seats  to  come  and  watch  us ;  they  forgot  all 
about  "  Dan,"  and  only  remem'.icred  when  they  were  young 
themselves,  and  talked  of  gray  Darby  Iloolahan,  that  v/as  at 
that  time  almost  double,  dancing  a  sling  jig  with  the  Widow 
Meahan,  Lord  have  mercy  on  Iht,  that  died  two  years  ago,  with 


:I52  THE  zoznius  papers. 

•  eighty  years  on  her  back.  The  woman  of  the  honsc  moved 
among  us  all,  and  talked  like  a  girl  to  some,  like  a  mother  to 
others,  and  like  Father  Kinsella  himself  to  the  wild  ones,  and 
there  weren't  few  of  them  there  either.  Athanasius  Ryan,  the 
schoolmaster,  was  there,  and  got  out  the  longest  rigmaroles  ever 
you  heard  ;  says  he,  "  But  you  remind  me  of  Diana  •  qualis  in 
Eurotas, '  only  it's  in  a  farm-house  you  are;  Venus  is  in  theascen- 
-  dant,  I  judge;  but — "  taking  a  glass  of  poteen,  "I  think  whis- 
ky's in  the  descendant,"  and  he  wasn't  far  wrong  there,  either. 
All  the  best  of  the  parish  was  thei-e— that  is,  all  the  part  that 
sweetened  it,  like  sugar  in  the  tea;  the  parish  could  exist  without 
them,  but  it  wouldn't  have  the  same  flavor.  Well,  the  sets  were 
all  formed  and  deformed,  and  re-formed  and  re-deformed  again; 
;  and  says  Billy  Martin: 

"  But  that  was  a  sly  trick  of  Garret  Rooney's,  on  Father  Khi- 
:  sella,  last  Wednesday." 

"Ah!  but  it  failed,"  says  Thade  Hogan;  "his  reverence  was 
too  much  for  him,  and  it's  a  good  slash  of  the  whip  he  got  into 
!  the  bargain." 

"What  was  it?"    "How  did  it  happen?"    "What  was  it?" 
■  "  Tell  us  all  about  it." 

' '  Yes,  Billy  !  tell  us  all  about  it,"  says  the  vanithee. 
"  Sure  it's  little  I  know  about  it,  I  only  heard  it  from  another. 
But  Moya  yonder,  blushing  in  the  corner,  was  present,  and  can 
r  tell  you  all  the  ins  and  outs  of  it." 

"Ah  !  how  smart  you  are,  Mister  Martin." 
"  What  was  it,  Moya  ?"     "  Yes,  Moya,  what  was  it?" 
"  Arrah  do  you  think  she's  at  confession  to  the  whole  of  ye? 
Leave  her  alone, ' '  says  the  vanithee. 
"  Well,  what  was  it,  Billy  ?" 

"  Well,"  says  Billy,  "  I  don't  want  to  carry  tales,  but  it  was  a 
good  trick,  anyhow." 

"Ah!    can't   ye  tell   us   about  it,  and   not  keep  palavering 
there?" 

"Well,  ye  see.  Garret,  the  priest's  boy,  was  on  the  road  in 
front  of  the  priest's  house,  carting  a  few  sods  in  a  little  barrow, 


A    DANCE    AT    PAT    MALONE  S'  1 53 

and  who  should  come  along  but  Miss  Moya,  yonder,  and  ye  all 
know  hov/  the  poor  boy  is  gone  on  her." 

"Ah!  close  your  mouth  till  ye  get  better  manners,  Billy 
Martin,  for  it's  poor  ones  you  have  now." 

"Arrah  whisht,  Moya,  sure  you  needn't  get  vexed,  we  were  all 
tlie  same  way  once  in  our  lives,"  says  the  vanil/iec.  "Go  on, 
Billy,  what  was  the  rest  of  it?" 

"Well,  what  should  they  do,  natural  enough,  but  stop  and 
have  a  bit  of  a  conflab,  and,  begorra,  nothing  would  satisfy  the 
boy  but  he  should  have  one  little  kiss." 

"Oh,  shame  on  you,  Billy  Martin,"  cries  the  girls,  and 
"small  blame  to  him,"  says  the  boys. 

"And  it's  little  you'd  blame  hiai,  each  of  ye,  if  you  were  all 
alone  with  your  own,  boys,  and  nobody  near  you  but  the  barrow 
of  turf.     Well,  Moya,  of  course,  wanted  to  trifle  with  him." 

"  I  wanted  to  go  home  out  of  that,"  says  Moya. 

"  To  trifle  with  him  before  she'd  consent — for  she  would  in  the 
end,  you  know." 

"  Bad  manners  to  you,  Billy." 

"Arrah,  whisht,  Moya,  sure  we  all  forgive  you.  Small  blame 
to  you  for  giving  what  you  were  going  to  take." 

"  Well,  it's  scuffling  they  were  on  the  roadside,  and  the  barrow 
upset  and  it's  great  goin's  on  they  had  all  to  themselves." 

"Billy  Martin,  I'll—" 

"When  just  as  they  were  in  the  midst  of  it,  who  came  along 
on  his  horse  but  Father  Klnsella  as  large  as  life.  And  says  Moya 
« Let  go  your  hold !  Don't  you  see  the  priest  ?'  " 

"True  for  you,"  says  Moya,  without  thinking,  and  we  all 
commenced  to  laugh. 

"  Ah  !  you  confess,  Moya,  you  confess." 

"  Well,  sure,  Garret  was  in  a  great  way  entirely,  for  the  priest 
seen  what  he  was  at;  but  he  was  pretty  quick,  and  of  he  slij->shis 
cap  and  tore  it  in  two  halves,  and  commences  to  boo-hoo  and  cry 
at  a  great  rate. 

"  'What  were  you  scufHing  v.'ith  that  girl  for,  you  young  rascal  ?' 
says  Father  Kinsella. 


154  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"  'Oh!  your  reverence,  boo-hoo,  boo-hoo,'  sobs  Garret,  show- 
ing his  torn  hat,  'she  tore  my  new  hat,  your  reverence,  that 
cost  me  half  my  week's  wages,  boo-hoo;  and  I  was  just  gohig  to — 
boo-hoo — to — oh,  your  reverence,  she's  always  up  to  such  tricks, 
boo-hoo,  and  I  was  just  going  to^wo-hoo — to — to—' 

"  '  To  kiss  her  for  doing  it,  you  rascal.  Inside,  you're  a  disgrace 
to  the  house.  If  ever  I  find  you  attempting  that  again  on  the 
public  road  I'll  horsewhip  you  soundly.' 

"  '  Then  I  may  in  the  house,  your  reverence,  boo-hoo.' 

"  'Inside,  you  rascal,'  and  he  gives  him  a  slash ;  but  I  heard  that 
he  was  laughing  all  day  in  his  study,  and  Garret  got  a  new  hat 
the  next  day." 

"What  did  you  tear  the  boy's  hat  for,  Moya?"  "You'll  have 
to  get  Garret  another  hat,  Moya."  "  What'U  you  tell  his  reverence 
about  the  hat,  Moya?"  "But  that  was  a  queer  trick,  Moya." 

" Oh,  leave  poor  Moya  alone,"  says  the  vanU/iec;  "maybe 
you  don't  all  wish  your  hats  were  torn,  and  that  into  smithereens, 
too." 

Well,  boys,  such  was  the  sport  and  the  stories  told  at  many  a 
dance  in  Ireland,  and  told  to-day,  aye,  perhaps  this  very  evening, 
in  your  native  land.  Pretty  soon  the  sport  was  getting  glorious; 
the  fiddle  couldn't  go  fast  enough;  the  boys  were  all  saucy,  and 
tlie  girls  were  getting  high-toned  and  disdainful,  excejit  when  a 
good  joke  would  be  told,  and  then  they'd  have  to  laugh;  the  old 
men  got  in  the  comer  again  and  commenced  talking  about 
"  Dan  "  once  more,  and  the  whole  of  us  were  in  the  height  of 
our  glory,  when  there  came  a  thundering  rap  at  the  door,  and  we 
were  all  as  still  as  mice  around  a  cheese,  for  there  seemed  to  be 
tlirouble  and  danger  in  the  knock. 

"  Who's  there?"  says  the  vanilkec. 

"Open  the  door  immediately,"  says  the  voice. 

"Not  till  I  know  what  you  want,"  says  the  good  woman. 

"  Open  this  door,  woman,"  says  t'.ie  one  without,  and  he  pushed 
in  an  umbrella  through  the  chink,  and  then  indeed  we  all  got 
sick  at  heart,  for  we  knew  Father  Kinsella's  umbrella  well,  every 
one  of  us,  and  felt  it,  maybe,  too;  and  Malachy  Du.T  peeps  out  of 
the  window  and  he  cries  out : 


A    DANCE    AT    PAT    MALONE  S.  1 55 

**Down  with  the  lights,  boys,  down  with  them.  There's 
Father  Kinsella  outside  and  two  curates  with  him.  Oh !  what  an 
unlucky  night.  Down  with  the  lights,  or  he'll  see  each  of  us  and 
we  all  will  be  mentioned  from  the  altar." 

In  a  minute  the  lights  were  down  and  out,  and  we  were  all  in 
the  other  room,  and  under  chairs  and  tables  and  beds;  for  every 
one  thought  it  would  be  most  terrible  if  his  reverence  saw  him 
above  all  the  others.  I  was  under  a  table  on  one  side  of  the 
room,  and  Ned  Murphy  beside  me.  Monica  was  in  the  other 
room,  and  dear  knows  where  they  all  scrooged  off  to^  but 
there  was  no  one  left  outside  but  Malone,  his  wife  and  little 
Athanasius  Ryan,  the  schoolmaster.  It  was  pitch  dark,  for  the 
liglits  were  all  out  and  the  candles  made  off  with.  It  was  a  ter- 
rible moment,  and  the  vanithce  was  in  great  distress;  you  could 
hear  your  heart  beat,  and  in  the  other  room  they  were  trybg  to 
open  the  window  softly  and  escape  in  silence. 

"Patrick  Malone,"  says  his  reverence,  "what  do  you  mean 
by  having  a  dance  in  your  house  on  New  Year's  night,  and  I  ex- 
pressly forbidding  it  ?" 

"Wliat  dance,  your  reverence?  sure,  there's  no  sign  of  a 
dance  here  anyway." 

"Stop!  do  not  attempt  to  prevaricate  and  make  the  matter 
worse.  Liglit  the  lights  till  we  see  the  offenders;  I  think  there 
must  be  some  of  your  parish  here,  too.  Father  McEvoy,"  say  she 
to  the  priest  with  him. 

"I  haven't  the  least  doubt,"  says  Father  McEvoy  and  some- 
how or  other  the  voice  seemed  very  familiar  to  me. 

"  Quick,  light  the  lights,  Patrick,"  says  Father  Kinsella. 

"  Well,  your  reverence,  you  see — "  says  the  vmiitliee. 

"  Do  what  I  tell  you  without  an  instant's  delay." 

"  But,  your  reverence,  they've  stole  the  candles." 

"Father  McEvoy  and  I  must  see  the  delinquents.  Quick,  a 
light;"  but  he  knew  h;  couldn't  get  one  for  all  the  gold  in 
Guinea. 

"Quick,"  says  Father  McEvoy,  "a  light,  I  must  look  after 
my  parish,"  and  the  voice  seemed  olJ  to  me  some  way.  So  I 
waited  a  minute  to  make  sure. 


156  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

"  Father  Kinsella,"  says  he  again,  "does  the  woman  refuse 
to  obey  your  commands  ?" 

I  was  sure.  So  I  caught  a  little  glimpse  of  the  face  in  a  stray 
bit  of  moonshine,  and  I  whispers  to  Ned  Murphy: 

"Ned!  Ned  !  it's  Master  Tom.  He's  got  his  friends  with 
him  playing  us  a  trick;  and  they've  stolen  Father  Kinsella's 
clothes." 

We  were  sure  in  a  minute,  and  Ned  had  a  stray  bit  of  candle 
he  secured  in  the  mess.     In  a  twinkling  we  lit  it  and  jumped  up. 

"  Ah  !  Master  Tom,  we  caught  you,  wc  caught  you.  Ah  !  but 
you're  up  to  a  trick  with  your  cape  and  hat.  Ah  !  you're  caught, 
for  all  your  umbrella." 

"What",  man,"  says  he,  "do  you  dare  to  refuse — "  and  then 
he  had  to  laugh;  but  in  a  minute  he  blew  out  the  light  in  Ned's 
hand  and  was  just  making  for  the  door;  but  I  soon  stopped  that 
little  game,  and  then  indeed  they  all  trooped  from  the  other 
room,  under  tables  and  beds  and  chairs,  the  loft,  closets  and  all 
over.  Tlie  candles  were  soon  lit,  and  there,  boys,  we  had  Master 
Tom  and  his  two  friends  prisoners  in  the  midst  of  us,  and  to  tell 
you  the  truth  they  seemed  to  enjoy  the  imprisonment  too. 

Well,  then  we  formed  great  schemes  for  their  punishment. 
Everybody  had  something  to  say,  and  each  one  thought  that 
surely  his  punishment  would  be  the  hardest  and  most  good- 
natured  one  that  could  be  devised. 

"Make  them  dance  with  every  girl  in  the  room,"  says  one. 

"Make  them  drink  all  the  poteen,"  says  another;  but  few 
favored  tJiat. 

"  Put  tliem  on  the  table  as  kings,"  says  another. 

"  And  tie  their  hands  behind  their  backs." 

"Make  Master  Tom  play  the  fiddle." 

"Oh!  by  all  means."  "Tobesure."  "Certainly."  "Why 
not?" 

"  Put  him  on  the  table." 

"Give  his  friend  the  rosin,  and  Peter  Kinsella  the  hat." 

"Agreed,  agreed."  "Up  with  them."  "Put  them  on  the 
table." 


A    DANCE    AT    PAT    M ALONE  S.  1 57 

"Now,  then,  Master  Tom,  the  wind  that  shakes  the  'barley.' " 

"  The  fox-hunter's  jig," 

♦•Garryowen." 

**  Patrick's  day." 

"  Irish  washerwoman." 

"  Arrah,  now  boys  and  girls,  give  him  time  to  draw  his  breath 
and  he'll  give  you  all  the  tunes  together  with  one  scrape  of  the 
bow,  won't  you,  Master  Tom?"  says  the  vanithee. 

"  To  be  sure  I  will,  and  half  a  dozen  more  for  good  measure," 
says  Master  Tom. 

And  so,  not  to  keep  you  waiting  any  longer,  up  they  put  him 
on  the  table,  and  Master  Tom  took  the  fiddle,  his  fnend  rosined 
the  bow,  and  they  gave  the  fiddler's  hat  to  Peter  Khisella  to 
gather  up  the  change  in.  And  maybe  Master  Tom  couldn't  play 
— whisht !  You'd  know  how  to  dance  immediately,  as  sooa  as 
you  heard  him,  even  if  you  never  saw  a  jig  before  in  your  life ; 
and  it  would  make  your  heart  cry  tears  of  joy  and  laughter  to  sec 
Peter  Kinsella  going  round  with  the  hat  among  us;  and  maybe  it 
wasn't  well  filled — because,  you  see,  we  were  all  having  such  fun 
on  account  of  our  near  losing  it  all,  and  whenever  yiju're  near 
losing  anything  that  you  get  a  new  grasp  on,  it's  twice  as  sweet 
as  before,  as,  indeed,  I  needn't  tell  you,  because  you  must  all 
know  it  from  experience.  Well,  of  course,  there  was  great  talk 
about  the  fright  we  were  all  in. 

"  Did  you  see  Darby  Duff  getting  under  the  vcOiithec^s  thimble, 
boys  ?  Sure,  if  the  rest  of  him  got  in,  the  brogues  would  stick  out, 
anyhow." 

"Ay  !"  says  Darby,  "but  you  got  into  the  closet  yourself  so 
as  to  be  near  your  dearest  friend,  the  poteen;  but  yon  take  it  to 
heart  a  great  deal — almost  as  much  as  to  stomach." 

"How  careful  you  were,  Thade,"  says  another,  "thatMoya 
wouldn't  be  seen.     Sure,  when  Garret  hears  that — " 

"Ah!  boys,  did  you  see  himself?"  says  Thade;  "sure,  I 
thought  we'd  be  all  discovered,  your  lobster  nose  shone  so  much 
in  the  dark." 

Well,  such  was  the  talk  among  us  all,  and  for  about  ten  minutes 


158  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

we  were  in  great  confusion,  and  there  was  tlie  greatest  hubbub — 
every  one  laughing  and  talking,  blaming  others,  praising  him- 
self, the  girls  all  animation  and  the  boys  all  spirits,  Pat  and  his 
cronies  laughing  and  saying  that  it  reminded  them  of  when  they 
were  young  gaffers  themselves.  Well,  we  were  all  re^-'ly  just  for 
a  renewal  of  the  dance.  Master  Tom  was  on  the  Uible  striking 
up  a  tune,  and  Peter  Kinsella  was  just  emptying  the  hat  in  the 
fiddler's  lap,  when  the  door,  which  by  ill  luck  we  fcr^ot  to  bar 
the  second  time,  was  opened,  and  who  stalks  in  liut  Father  Kin- 
sella himself,  as  large  as  life,  and  his  forehead  like  an  August 
thunder-cloud.  There  wasn't  an  instant  to  blaw  out  a  light,  or 
to  Scrooge  away  in  a  corner,  but  there  we  stood,  looking  as  dreary 
and  as  guilty  as  a  pair  of  cocks  fighting  in  the  rain.  Ob  I  but  we 
were  terror-stricken;  and  when  Father  Kinsella  looked  round  his 
eye  grew  flashy. 

"What  do  you  mean,"  says  he,  "  assembling  here  on  this  holy 
night,  and  profaning  this  great  feast  of  God's  Church  by  disturb- 
ing the  stillness  of  the  night  with  your  drunken  revelry  ?" 

"  Oh !  Father  Kinsella  !  drunk — sorra  one  of  us,"  we  all  cried 
out  together. 

Well,  boys,  just  then  he  cast  his  eyes  around,  and  whom 
should  he  see  but  his  own  nephew,  with  the  fiddler's  hat  in  his 
hand,  and  Master  Tom  on  the  table,  with  the  fiddle  to  his  shoul- 
der. Well,  the  look  he  put  on — Virgil  couldn't  describe,  as 
Athanasius  Ryan  said  (how  could  he,  sure  he  never  saw  Father 
Kinsella).  Well,  he  wanted  to  be  fiercer  than  ever,  and  spite  of 
all  he  could  do  he  had  to  smile;  and  then  Master  Tom  looked  at 
him  and  laughed,  and  sure  he  had  to  laugh  too;  and  when  he  saw 
his  own  cape,  hat  and  umbrella  with  Peter  Kinsella  he  burst  out 
into  a  roar;  but,  for  all  that,  he  remembered  his  duty,  so  up  he 
takes  his  umbrella  and  told  us  all  to  go  home.     Says  he: 

"  Go  home  peaceably,  now,  every  one  of  you,  and  Fll  forgive 
you  all,  for  sure  my  own  nephew  encourages  you;  but  let  me 
never  hear  of  such  a  thing  again.  Remember  that,  and  let  it 
sink  deep  into  your  hearts." 

"Oh,  your  reverence,  never  again  in  all  our  lives." 


A  DANCE   AT   PAT   MALONE  S.  1 59 

"That  will  do  now;  go  home — no  nonsense,"  for  he  knew  we 
couldn't  keep  such  a  promise  if  we  tried  ever  so  hard. 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Father;  sure  we'll  always  remember  it." 
"Never  fear  us,  your  reverence,  sorra  dance — "  "  Never  in  my 
house  again,  your  reverence — ' ' 

"Home  with  you  all,  quick;  and  as  for  you  three  gentlemen, 
come  and  walk  over  a  piece  with  me — " 

"Oh!  Father,  forgive  them."  "Forgive  them,  your  rev- 
erence; sure,  'twas  only  a  little  sport  on  their  part—"  "  Ah,  do. 
Father  Ivinsella;  sure  they'll  never  do  it  again — " 

"  Home  out  of  this,  every  one  of  you,  or  this  will  not  be  the  end 
of  it.  Home,  quickly,  every  one  of  you,  or  maybe  it's  mention 
you  I  would." 

Well,  off  we  went  all  home,  and  sure  by  the  time  Monica,  Ned 
and  myself  got  back  it  was  very  early,  and  says  the  Widow 
Walsh  to  me: 

"And  what  brought  you  home  so  early?" 

"  Well,  ma'am,"  says  I,  "  you  see  I  forgot  to  feed  Katy  when 
I  left,  and  sure  it  lay  heavy  on  my  mind,  and  I  thought  I'd  come 
home  and  not  leave  the  poor  beast  without  her  supper  on  my  ac- 
count." 

"And  you,  Mcnica?" 

"Well,  ma'am,  sure  I  was  afraid  I  hadn't  set  the  dough  for 
the  baking,  and  as  James  was  coming  back,  I  thought  I'd  come 
with  him  and  make  sure." 

"  And  you,  Ned,  what  brought^'^?^  home  so  early  ?" 

"  Why — because,  ma'am,  the  others  came  home,  and  I  didn't 
want  to  come  home  alone  any  later  for  fear  of  the  fairies,  as  they 
do  say  there's  a  power  of  them  abroad  to-night." 

"  But  sure  you're  getting  very  timorous,  Ned,"  says  the  widow, 
"  and  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  other  two  so  tender  for  the  wel- 
fare of  the  house.     That  will  do  now;  you  can  go." 

A  little  later  the  boys  came  in  with  Father  Ivinsella,  and  such 
laughing  as  w.as  in  the  parlor  you  never  heard  the  like  of  before. 
And  sure  who  was  it  but  the  widow  who  put  the  boys  up  to  the 
sport,  and  then  sent  word  to  Father  Kinsella  of  a  dance  over  at 


l6o  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

Pat  Malone's;  and  sure  didn't  she  confess,  and  it  was  a  quite 
thing  all  round,  anyhow.  When  Monica  went  up  Tvith  some  re- 
freshments, they  asked  her  was  "  the  bread  set  yet?"  and  if 
'*  Ned  saw  any  fairies  by  the  rath  ?"  but  they  guessed  she  was  the 
only  one  herself.  Well,  from  that  day  till  1  left  Ireland,  five 
years  come  next  Michaelmas,  I  never  heard  Master  Tom  called 
anything  by  his  college  friends  but  "  Father  McEvoy,"  and,  per- 
haps, occasionally  "  Fiddler  Tcaru" 


MIKE   DRISCOLL   AND   THE    FAIRIES.  l6l 


MIKE  DRISCOLL  AND  THE  FAIRIES. 


The  picturesque  village  of  Castleconnell  lies  on  the  banks  of 
the  Shannon,  about  six  miles  above  Limerick.  A  lovelier  habi- 
tation could  scarcely  be  chosen  by  the  most  enthusiastic  admirer 
of  decaying  art  and  perennial  nature.  The  surrounding  district 
is  thickly  strewn  with  the  remains  of  castles,  fortresses,  and 
churches,  each  shrined  in  the  mellow  twilight  of  its  own  legend ; 
whilst  the  gently  undulating  country  is  belted  and  darkened  with 
fragments  of  forest,  and  overtopped  by  the  bluest  of  mountains. 
The  noble  river  itself  flows  past  the  village,  a  quarter  mile 
in  breadth,  by  quaintly-mossed  and  water-stained  weirs,  over 
which  the  salmon  leaps,  at  times,  high  in  the  air,  like  a  sudden 
gust  of  jewels;  by  conical-roofed,  old-fashioned  mills,  whose 
crooked  windows  and  high  gables  blend  in  mai-vellous  harmony 
with  the  character  of  the  surrounding  landscape ;  and  by  pleasant 
cottages,  where  peasant  girls  still  sit  and  sing  at  the  threshold, 
and  the  spinning-wheel  hums  flaxen-toned  ditties  in  the  summer 
weather.  Leaving  the  village,  the  mighty  stream  sweeps  with  a 
curved  rush  around  the  gentle  promontory  on  whose  height  the 
castle  of  the  O'Briens  still  stands  in  desolate  magnificence;  and 
thence,  with  many  a  bend,  round  green  elbows  of  scented  wood- 
land and  pastoral  peninsulas,  dotted  with  dreamy  Cuyp-like  cat- 
tle, towards  Doonas.  The  fall  in  the  bed  of  the  river  at  this  point 
is  considerable.  The  narrow  channel  is  nearly  blocked  up  by 
huge  boulders,  overgrown  with  citron-colored  flora,  from  whose 
fissures  spring  the  slender  hazel  and  the  flowing  elder;  and  over 
and  around  them  rushes  the  great  torrent  of  waters,  churning  itself 
into  vast  cauldrons  of  boiling  foam  and  clouds  of  mist ;  subsiding 
here  and  there  into  weltering  pools  of  flaky  emerald.     To  the 


l6z  THE    ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

right,  the  bank  rises  to  the  height  of  seventy  feet;  and  viewed 
from  this  elevation,  the  spectacle  presented  by  the  Calls  is  one  of 
terrific  beauty.  Right  and  left,  as  far  as  the  eye  can  penetrate, 
the  river  appears  to  be  lashed  into  a  white  fury,  and  sends  up  a 
roar  which  may  be  heard  at  a  distance  of  six  miles  in  calm 
weather.  The  low  shores  at  the  opposite  side  are  buried  in  the 
thickest  foliage,  whilst  if  the  spectator  can  lean  over  the  cliff  on 
which  he  stands,  he  sees  but  a  precipitous  wall  of  rock,  which 
falls  with  plummet-like  sheerness  into  the  raging  torrent  beneath. 
The  spot  has  many  associations.  Some  years  ago,  a  lady  of  high 
rank  attempted  to  cross  the  falls  at  midnight,  in  order  to  be  pres- 
ent at  a  ball  given  at  the  residence  of  a  gentleman  of  fortune  on 
the  other  siJe.  A  brave  fisherman  undertook  to  convey  her 
across;  but  he  and  his  fair  charge  perished  in  the  perilous  enter- 
prise. A  month  after  the  tragic  occurrence,  her  body  was  dis- 
covered floating  some  miles  further  down  the  river,  the  bracelets 
on  her  wrists  and  the  jewels  of  her  hair  matted  with  water- weeds. 
The  peasantry  assert  that  on  the  anniversary  of  her  death,  wail- 
uig  voices*ascend  from  the  falls,  and  a  spectral  lady  is  seen  drift- 
ing seaward  with  the  current.  On  the  highest  part  of  the  bank 
are  the  ruins  of  a  castle,  evidently  of  modem  erection.  It  is 
staled  that  the  building  was  burned,  by  orders  of  its  owner,  for 
the  express  purpose  of  heightening  the  poetical  character  of  the 
scenery,  by  adding  a  picturesque  ruin  to  its  other  attractions. 
Then  there  is  an  ancient  well,  enclosed  in  an  oblong  of  Druidical 
oaks;  and  there  are  raths,  and  nine-men-morris  circles,  where  the 
lusmore  flourishes,  and  the  genial  fairies  of  the  place  dance  jocund 
measures  in  the  blinking  starlight. 

It  was  the  morning  of  Christmas,  17 — .  The  winter  had  been 
unusually  clement,  for  the  sycamores  still  retained  a  remnant  of 
yellowing  foliage,  and  the  frosts  were  so  light  that  they  scarcely 
crisped  the  short  meadow-grass.  The  day  was  brisk  and  spark- 
ling, and  before  noon  the  mists,  which  had  hung  over  the  falls 
since  daylight,  were  dissipated  by  the  sun  and  a  low  breeze  from 
the  south.  Tlie  blackbird  felt  the  time  so  pleasant  that  he  puffed 
Jus  golden  throat,  and  whistled  the  first  bars  of  a  spring-tide  carol ; 


MIKE    DrvISCOLL    AND    THE    FAIRIES.  1 63 

the  effort  naturally  provoked  the  emulative  disposition  ofliis  rival, 
the  thrush,  who,  however,  broke  down  in  the  effort  only  to  hear 
the  crystal  twitter  of  the  robin  from  a  neighboring:  spray  of  holly. 
The  Driscoll  family,  as  they  sat  at  breakfast,  insensible,  it  must 
he  confessed,  to  the  vocal  competition  which  had  just  taken  place, 
felt  that  the  season  was  mild,  that  the  air  was  delicate,  and  the 
oaten  bread  delicious.  So  the  lightest  joke,  tiie  most  trifling  quil- 
let, excited  a  fit  of  hearty  laughter,  with  cries  of  "  Tisn't  half 
your  best,"  "Arrah,  what'il  he  say  next?"  and  other  compli- 
mentary  incentives  to  the  rustic  humor. 

The  house  occupied  by  the  DriscoUs  was  a  large  and  respecta- 
ble residence  for  a  middle-class  farmer  of  the  period.  It  had  two 
stories;  and,  though  the  walls  were  seldom  whitened,  and  the 
sashes  and  panes  exhibited  uncomfortable  ventilating  tendencies, 
the  coat  of  thick  thatch  which  shielded  the  roof,  and  the  tufts  of 
smoke  which  ascended  from  the  chimneys,  lent  it  an  air  of  cozy 
indolence  that  was  far  from  being  disagreeable.  As  for  its  posi- 
tion, it  defied  criticism.  It  was  a  grassy  eminence,  which  sloped 
to  the  river  edge,  and  caught  the  last  foam-wreaths  that  were 
hurled  downward  from  the  falls.  From  the  upper  windows  of 
the  house  one  could  obtain  a  good  view  of  the  "Jumping  Hole," 
as  it  is  called,  and  a  goodly  prospect  of  the  rock-chafed  river. 
Driscoll,  senior,  whom  we  do  not  pretend  to  quote  as  an  author- 
ity on  situation,  was  often  heard  to  declare,  that  "  all  Ireland 
couldn't  bate  that  spot  for  convanience, "  and  further,  that  a  look 
at  it  on  a  heavy  morning  was  "  worth  fifty  pounds  a  year  to  a 
gauger." 

The  family  group  assembled  at  breakfast  on  the  eventful  Christ- 
mas morning  we  write  of,  consisted  of  old  Denis  Driscoll,  his 
wife  and  his  two  sons.  Of  John,  the  elder  son,  it  would  be  hard 
to  say  much,  as  his  character  was  of  that  negative  description 
which  offers  little  to  the  observer.  Shrewd,  acth'e  and  laborious, 
he  was  a  faithful  and  valuable  helper  on  the  fj,r:n  on* week  days, 
and  "  an  out-and-out  buckeen  "  on  Sundays  and  holidays.  Mike 
was  the  family  genius;  he  drank  more,  danced  more,  and  sang 
more  than  all  his  relatives  put  together.     He  never  missed  a  fair 


164  THE    ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

or  a  pattern;  he  was  the  heavy  man  at  all  the  local  wocliiogs,  an 
indispensable  assistant  at  the  wakes,  and  the  very  dctit-e  at  "a 
thrial  of  short-stick."  To  see  Mike  was  to  see  the  embodiment  of 
humor.  When  he  laughed  his  ^ffaw  could  be  heard  over  a 
meadow;  his  mouth  would  roll  back  displaying  a  double  line  of 
shining  teeth;  his  black  eyes  would  literally  fl.ash  Vilh  enpyment, 
and  every  muscle  of  his  face  contributed  .sonte  odd  wrinkle 
or  cunnmg  fissure  to  intensify  the  jollity  of  his  expression.  Of 
Mike's  good  nature  no  one  was  ever  known  to  venture  a  doubt — 
his  generosity  was  only  limited  by  his  ability;  for  he  was  always 
willing  to  oblige  a  friend  with  the  loan  of  a  shilling  or  the  crack 
of  a  cudgel,  as  circumstances  required.  It  is  to  be  deeply  re- 
gretted, that  to  all  these  shining  qualities  Mike  did  not  unite  pro- 
found religious  principles.  Not  that  his  morals  were  ordinarily 
lax;  but  he  had  a  constitutional  passion  for  the  open  air,  which 
occasionally  induced  him  to  neglect  the  solemn  duties  of  religion. 
Then,  Mike  had  been  inoculated  at  an  early  stage  of  his  career 
with  a  fancy  for  card-playing,  and  was  often  known  to  sit  up 
four-and-twenty  hours  without  winking,  at  his  favorite  amuse- 
ment. When  the  family  went  to  chapel  on  Sunday,  Mike  would 
invariably  say,  "Go  on,  father;  I'll  overtake  ye — believe mc,  I'll 
overtake  ye."  But  he  seldom  fulfilled  his  promise,  preferring 
rather  to  turn  into  a  deserted  lime-kiln,  which  lay  at  a  stone's 
throw  from  the  rear  of  the  house,  where  he  met  with  a  group  of 
choice  spirits,  with  whom  he  gambled  till  dinner-time. 

"What  are  you  dramin'  iv,  Mike?"  asked  old  DriscoU,  eye- 
ing his  son,  who  appeared  to  have  fallen  into  a  brown  study. 
"  Eh,  what  are  you  dramin'  iv  ?  Some  misforthunate  caper,  I'll 
go  bail  ?" 

"Musha,  father,  as  ye're  curious  to  know  what,  I'll  tell  you. 
I'm  dramin'  of  nothin'  at  all,  at  all,  so  I  am." 

"  Wid  the  blessin' of  God,"  observed  Mrs.  DriscoU,  "he's 
thinkin'  of  goin'  with  us  to-day  instead  of  playin'  cards.  Won't 
you,  Mike  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mike.  "I'll  just  go  and  make  myself  a  thrifle 
dacent,  and  then  I'll  be  wid  ye." 


MIKE    DRISCOLL    AND    THE    FAIRIES.  165 

So  saying,  Mr.  Michael  Driscoll  rose  and  climbed  the  stairs  to 
an  upper  room  for  the  purpose  of  refreshing  his  toilet.  His  bro- 
ther, it  will  be  remembered,  was  a  buckeen ;  but  Mike  had  an  in- 
tellectual contempt  for  the  proprieties  of  costume,  wliicli  no  fra- 
ternal example,  however  brilliant,  was  capable  of  correcting.  He 
hated  shiny  hats,  despised  cravats,  repudiated  broadcloth,  but 
held  buckskin  in  healthy  esteem.  Consequently  when  Mike,  "  a 
thrifle  dacent,"  presented  himself  before  his  family,  and  an- 
nounced himself  ready,  his  attire  was  more  picturesque  than  ele- 
gant. It  consisted,  if  we  may  descend  to  details,  of  buckskin 
knee-breeches,  blue  stockings,  and  brogues;  his  coat,  which  was 
furnished  with  a  cape,  descended  almost  to  his  heels.  On  his 
head  he  carried  a  beaver  hat,  slightly  indented  about  the  middle; 
and  the  whole  was  completed  by  the  addition  of  a  coarse  shirt, 
fastened  at  the  throat  with  a  large  brass  button.  In  this  inven- 
tory we  have  purposely  omitted  mention  of  his  stick — a  short, 
thick  ash  cutting,  which  had  performed  several  curious  surgical 
operations  in  the  hands  of  its  owner,  and  is  therefoi'e  entitled  to  a 
distinct  sentence. 

All  being  in  readiness,  old  Driscoll  mounted  a  favorite  gray 
mare,  and  his  wife  was  placed  on  a  pillion  behind  liim;  the  buc- 
keen rode  a  blood  horse  borrowed  from  a  neifj'.i!>or;  and  poor 
Mike  a  one-eyed  mule,  which  he  aptly  described  as  "  the  most 
cantankerous  baste  in  creation."  The  little  cavalcade  set  out 
slowly  for  the  chapel,  about  three  miles  distant;  and  it  was  evi- 
dent from  the  radiant  looks  of  Mrs.  Driscoll  and  the  jaunty  air  of 
her  husband  that  both  were  delighted  at  getting  ]!irilce,  at  long  last, 
on  the  high  road  to  duty.  The  road  lay  in  part  through  a  dense- 
ly-grown shrubbery,  whence  it  turned  off,  at  a  sharp  angle,  and 
emerged  on  the  open  country.  As  old  Driscoll  jogged  along,  a 
sudden  impulse  caused  him  to  look  in  the  direction  of  the  farm 
house.     A  quick  exclamation  of  surprise  passed  his  lips. 

"Mike,  avick,"  he  shouted  with  considerable  energy;  "ride 
back  as  fast  as  the  mule's  legs  will  carry  you;  the  pigs  are  puUin' 
the  whate  in  the  haggard — bad  luck  to  them,  an'  the  Lord  forgive 
me." 


l66  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"Bad  scannin'  to  them,"  said  Mrs.  Driscoll,  "they're  the 
quarest  pigs  I  ever  seen.  \Vhate,  indeed !  'twould  sarve  them 
right  if  it  choked  them." 

Mike  cast  a  rapid  glance  at  the  haggard,  and  sure  enough  there 
were  the  whole  litter,  with  the  sow  at  their  head,  poking  their 
noses  into  the  corn-stacks,  and  munching  the  precious  grain  as 
only  pigs  and  aldermen  can  munch.  To  turn  back  the  mule's 
head  and  urge  her  to  a  canter  was  the  work  of  a  moment.  "  Don't 
lose  no  time,  agrah,"  shouted  his  mother,  as  he  rode  off  to  arrest 
the  work  of  demolition. 

"Honor  bright,  mother,"  replied  Mike,  and  without  further 
parley  he  provoked  the  mule  into  a  gallop.  On  reaching  the 
house  he  jumped  over  the  haggard  fence,  and  contrived,  with  the 
assistance  of  his  stick,  to  disperse  the  offending  animals.  Having 
secured  the  gate,  he  looked  around  for  the  mule,  but  that  quad- 
ruped, being  inclined  to  excursiveness,  had  wandered  from  the 
road,  and  was  disporting  himself  in  a  piece  of  ploughed  land  to 
the  north  of  the  farm.  To  make  matters  worse,  Mike  found  it 
impossible  to  catch  him.  The  cunning  beast  eluded  every  at- 
tempt which  his  owner  made  to  capture  his  reins,  and  led  him 
such  a  dance  through  the  soft  loam  that  the  latter  was  obliged  to 
sit  down,  defeated. 

After  some  time  he  rose,  and  was  making  his  way  to  the  road, 
when  the  hum  of  well-known  voices  from  the  other  side  of  the 
ditch  reached  his  ear;  and  before  he  could  fly,  a  number  of  young 
men,  dressed  in  the  provincial  holiday  gear,  leaped  into  the  field, 
and  stood  l)efore  him. 

"AiTah,  then,  isityerself?  and  my  Christmas-box  on  you," 
said  Jerry  Toomey.  "  Is  it  huntin'  the  wran  all  alone  you  were, 
and  the  two  best  fivers  in  the  country  goin'  to  try  it  out  at  the 
kiln?" 

Mike  laughed  a  good-natured  laugh,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Maybe  he's  goin'  coortin',"  observed  Tom  Delany.  "See 
how  nate  he  looks,  scooped  out  to  the  nines,  as  the  man  said  to 
the  new  piggin.  I'd  l)et  ye  a  fi'penny  bit,  boys,  he'd  be  ashamed 
to  walk  with  us — wouldn't  he,  Tony  ?" 


MIKE    DRISCOLL    AND    THE    FAIRIES.  1 67 

The  individual  addressed  as  Tony,  a  little  fat  man,  dressed  in 
a  faded  hunting  suit,  hsre  walked  up  to  Miks,  and,  having  made 
a  circuit  around  him,  clapped  his  handj  ia  affected  astonishment. 
"Why  thin,  Mike,"  asked  the  little  man,  placing  his  hands  on 
his  hips,  and  throwing  back  Iiis  head  with  tlis  air  of  a  horse-critic, 
" you  didn't  mane  to  bother  us  entirely,  did  you?  New  buck- 
skins, as  my  grandfather  was  a  gentleman;  new  brogues,  new 
coat,  new  everything — the  signs  of  money  flying  about  him  like 
snuff  at  a  wake.     I  v/ondcr  did  he  pay  the  hansel  yet  ?" 

"  Begor,  then,  he  didn't  so,"  said  Tom,  "  an'  more's  the  shame 
for  him;  bat  wc  won't  forget  it  if  he  does.  After  all,  it's  raisona- 
ble  of  me  thinkin'  that  Mike  was  goin'  to  mass,  for  he's  turnin' 
pious  iv  late — a  young  saint,  you  know." 

Tlie  young  men  laughed  simultaneously,  much  to  Mike's  cha- 
grin, and  with  a  view  to  cover  his  reputation  as  a  good  fellow, 
he  said: 

"  Troth,  Ton/,  if  ye'd  like  to  know  the  ins  and  outs  of  it,  I 
was  on  the  look-out  for  ye,  knowin',  as  I  knowed  for  the  last  two 
weeks,  that  ye'd  have  a  bit  of  divarsion  to-day,  and  now  an'  iver 
I'm  as  good  a  man  as  any  o'  ye." 

"More  power  to  your  potato  cake,"  cried  Tony,  slapping  Mike 
encouragingly  on  the  back.  "When  the  Driscolls  give  up  sport- 
in',  you  may  burn  all  the  cards  and  shoot  all  the  race-horses  in 
the  country.     Come  along,  honey,  for  there's  no  time  to  be  lost." 

Wlien  the  little  party  arrived  at  the  kiln,  they  found  it  already 
in  the  occupation  of  a  dozen  of  persons,  who  were  disputing  loud- 
ly over  an  alleged  neglect  on  the  part  of  some  one  present. 

"Bring  us  all  this  way,"  cried  one,  "and  when  we  come, 
there's  n^t  a  card  to  play  with." 

"Dat  Ted  N^alon,"  said  a  sharp,  wiry  voice,  "  is  de  most  in- 
sonest  boy  in  the  barony.  H2  links  of  notin'  except  atin'  and 
drinkin'  and  gutlin'.  'Tis  n^ider  here  nor  dere,  but  'twas  a 
bleedin'  shame  to  lave  de  cards  to  him." 

"  Ilowld  yer  tongue,  Tim,"  said  a  manly  young  fellow,  who 
appeared  deeply  dejected;  "ye'd  talk  from  this  to  Michaelmas, 
ye  would.     Look,  min,  there's  only  one  thing  for  us.     Draw  lots 


l68  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

to  know  who'll  go  to  the  village  to  buy  a  sixpenny  pack  at  Betty 
Houlihan's." 

The  proposition  was  received  with  delight.  A  number  of 
straws  of  various  lengths  were  placed  in  Tony's  hat,  and  the  gam- 
blers drew  one  each.  On  comparing  them,  Mike's  was  found  to 
be  the  shortest  of  the  lot.  The  result  startled  him  not  a  little,  but 
there  was  no  help  for  it. 

"Dere,  you're  de  lucky  man,  so  you  arc,"  said  Tim,  "and 
you're  well  dcsarvin'  of  the  honor,  so  you  are.  Take  to  your 
pins,  now,  and  don't  cry  crack  till  you're  back  again  wid  us. 
And  beware  of  de  Good  People." 

With  many  recommendations  "  not  to  spare  his  heels  "  ringing 
in  his  ears,  Mike  left  the  kiln.  An  hour  later,  with  the  cards  in 
one  of  his  capacious  pockets  and  a  bottle  of  whiskey  in  the  other, 
he  left  the  village  and  bent  his  steps  homewards.  He  was  in  the 
highest  spirits,  for  he  anticipated  rare  sport;  nor  was  his  mind 
troubled  by  the  reflection  that  he  had  sacrificed  a  solemn  obliga- 
tion to  human  respect  for  his  companions.  Whether  it  was  that 
he  had  imbibed  too  much  of  the  contents  of  the  bottle,  or  that 
some  unusual  cause  contributed  to  the  elasticity  of  his  tempera- 
ment, we  know  not;  but  it  is  asserted,  that  whilst  threading  his 
way  through  Doonas  Wood,  the  gay  fellow  carolled  like  a  bird, 
and  flourished  his  stick  more  than  once  with  playful  ingenuity. 
The  extreme  beauty  of  a  little  lawn,  a  place  known  as  "  The 
Fairies'  Wake,"  hidden  in  a  verdurous  paling  of  holly  trees,  ar- 
rested his  steps  as  he  was  about  to  cross  it.  The  grass  seemed  to 
Mike  to  be  grass  of  a  softer  and  fresher  texture  than  he  had  ever 
before  seen;  the  trees,  too,  were  of  slenderer  trunk  and  lovelier 
outline;  and  the  patch  of  sky  overhead  was  of  deeper  and  richer 
blue  than  the  sky  usually  wore  at  that  season.  "  Surely,"  thought 
Mike,  "if  the  Good  People — Lord  between  us  and  harm — wanted 
a  purty  pl.ice  to  foot  a  double  reel,  'tis  here  they  ought  to  come, 
and  not  to  the  old  raths,  where  two  cals  couldn't  dance  comforta- 
bly barrin'  they  held  their  tails  in  their  mouths.  Well,  at  any 
rate,  though  the  place  is  nice,  I  must  say  it's  cowld;  and  faith  a 
dhrop  would  improve  a  boy's  acquaintance  with  it."     Having 


MIKE   DRISCOLL   AND   THE    FAIRIES.  1 69 

expressed  his  opinion,  Mike  raised  the  bottle  to  his  lips  and  swal- 
lowed a  copious  draught  of  the  fiery  liquor.  At  the  same  time, 
he  became  sensible  that  the  cards  had  fallen  from  his  pocket  and 
were  scattered  in  a  brilliant  litter  on  the  sward.  Placing  the  bot- 
tle in  his  pocket,  he  stooped  to  pick  them  up,  but  to  his  astonish- 
ment they  wouldn't  wait  for  his  fingers;  they  appeared  to  be  sud- 
denly endowed  with  life,  for  they  hopped  and  skipped  about  in 
all  directions  with  such  liveliness  of  manner  and  such  variety  of 
motion  that  it  was  evident,  as  Mike  subsequently  remarked,  "The 
Ould  Boy's  children  had  their  Daddy's  luck." 

"Ah,  thin,  will  ye  be  aisy,  will  ye,  and  slop  yer  capers  ?"  he 
cried,  for  the  potent  spirit  had  deadened  his  reverence  for  the 
supernatural  to  a  degree  boidering  on  disbelief  in  its  existence. 
"Say  ye'll  come  if  ye'U  come,  if  ye  don't,  don't,  for  the  deuce  a 
one  of  me  ud  be  bothered  huntin'  ye  about  for  tin  times  yer  worth. 
Knave  of  spades,  bad  luck  to  me,  but  I'll  twist  yer  neck,  you 
dirty  blackamoor,  if  you  go  on  that  way  makin'  a  fool  o'  me. 
Queen  of  Diamonds,  there's  a  darlint — thuck,  thuck,  thuck — an' 
she's  goin'  to  let  me  take  her,  isn't  she  ?  Arrah,  only  mind  how 
she  cuts,  head  over  heels — whoo  !  will  she  ever  put  a  stop  to  her 
gallop  ?  By  dad,  she's  in  debt  to  her  house  painter,  and  takes 
me  for  a  bailiff.  That's  a  dacent,  respectable  man,  the  King  of 
Hearts — a  very  dacent  man.  Av  coorse  he  remembers  the  night 
when  he  won  me  the  last  thrick  of  that  murtherin'  forty-five, 
when  I  bate  Ned  1  legarty  to  babby-rags.  Yerra,  look  how  he 
comes  to  me,  faugh-a-balla.  Five  of  Clubs,  you  pock-marked 
thief,  and  make  way  for  his  majesty.  Ye're  gone  agin.  King  of 
Hearts.  Ye're  gone,  you  shabby  desaiver,  with  your  ould  petti- 
coats streelin'  to  your  heels.  Farragh-aJJw,  if  you  come  forninst 
me  now  and  stood  and  said,  '  Take  me,  Mick  DriscoU,  take  me,* 
I'd  say,  » Gerout,  you  ould  bundle  of  tattei-s,  I'd  like  to  know 
who'd  put  you  in  their  pocket?'  Musha,  Queen  o'  Spades,  'tis 
yourself  that's  a  purty  colleen,  and  proud  I'll  be  to  take  you 
under  my  protection,  with  your  nate  curls  hanging  down  yow 
rosy  cheeks,  and  the  crown  o'  gold  shinin'  bright  on  your  head. 
Whoo !  jewel,  how  she  foots  it,  as  if  she  was  dancin'   at  Billy 


170  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

Leonard's  hop  for  a  wager.  Oh,  the  deeshy  dawny  little  feet  of 
her !  and  the  lily  hands,  and  the  wliite  tin  fingers,  so  long  and  so 
taper,  for  all  the  world  like  two  hanks  o'  candles  !  I  have  you, 
acliora,  I  have  you.  Arrah,  shoot  me,  but  she's  gone,  like  the 
lest  iv  'em — gone  clean,  as  Joe  Bolster  said,  when  he  polished  his 
brogues  and  pawned  them  afterwards.  Honest  woman,  honest 
woman,  I  say  you  don't  know  me,  or  you'd  behave  yourself  a 
thrlde  better.  I'm  Mike  Driscoll,  o'  Doonas,  I'd  have  you  know. 
'Tisn't  myself  that  would  say  it,  but  there's  not  a  girl  in  the 
barony  that  wouldn't  cock  her  cap  at  me,  if  she  thought  'twas 
any  use  for  her.  Do  you  hear  that.  Queen  o'  Spades  !  do  you? 
go  over  to  your  ould  Iwccaiigh  of  a  husband,  that's  niakin'  a  fool 
iv  himself  in  the  bushes,  tryin'  to  coax  out  the  Queen  o'  Diamonds, 
iv  you  please,  and  tell  him  I  said  so.  O  !  thin,  muitlier,  what's 
the  matter  with  them  at  all  at  all  ?  There  they're  flutterin'  about, 
like  leaves  at  harvest  time,  and  all  the  art  o'  man  couldn't  lay 
hands  on  one  o'  their  ugly  carcasses.  Not  a  hair  I  care  anyhow, 
for  they'll  soon  get  tired  in  spite  iv  'em,  and  then  'twill  be  easy 
enough  to  go  up  and  talk  wid  them.  Go  on,  go  on,  ye  varmints, 
I  wouldn't  look  after  ye  for  the  good  iv  ye.  WTioo  !  that's  right; 
when  the  somebodies  dance  vioonccns,  their  fatlier,  av  coorse, 
pays  the  piper." 

During  the  delivery  of  this  strange  address,  the  speaker  was 
busily  engaged  chasing  the  cards  on  his  hands  and  knees,  from 
place  to  place;  but  his  labors  proved  fruitless.  Sometimes  a  king 
card  would  dance  within  an  inch  of  his  hand,  but  when  he 
stretched  forth  that  member  to  capture  the  royal  truant,  the  latter 
would  bound  a  foot  high  from  the  grass,  and  roll  away  a  dozen 
feet  or  more,  when  it  would  stand,  as  if  inviting  fresh  pursuit. 
The  queens  iubisted  on  sustaining  the  reputation  of  their  sex  for 
profound  skill  in  coquetry.  They  would  advance  with  a  winning 
gait  and  fascinating  air,  towards  the  poor  fellow,  who  used  all 
his  eloc^uence  to  induce  them  to  return  to  his  custody,  and  then 
prostrate  themselves  on  the  sward.  But,  strange  to  tell,  when 
Mike  laid  hands  on  them,  they  would  manage  to  gllue  out  of  his 
grasp,  and  go  spinning  about  the  lawn  like  humming  tojis.    The 


MIKE    DRISCOLL    AND    THE    FAIRIES.  I7I 

knaves  were  eminently  successful  in  provolcing  Mr.  DriscoU's  in- 
dignation. The  rogues  would  stride  up  to  him,  with  a  look 
which  meant  to  convey — "Can't  you  put  us  in  your  pocket?" 
then  advancing  their  fat  fore-legs,  like  a  row  of  footmen  at  a  Lord 
Mayor's  dinner,  and  closing  their  left  eyes,  would  gaze  in  his  face 
so  imploringly,  that  Mike  was  fain  to  pity  them.  Still,  when  he 
attempted  to  put  them  in  his  pocket,  the  merry  young  gentlemen 
would  wheel  round  on  their  right  heals,  shake  their  wigged  heads, 
and  march  off  towards  the  trees,  the  skirts  of  their  coats  sticking 
out,  and  their  swords  dangling  from  their  waists.  As  for  the  m- 
ferior  cards  they  seldom  came  near  him,  contenting  thefliselves 
with  executing  some  mysterious  movements  under  a  neighboring 
holly.  *  Mike  was  disgusted  with  the  whole  business,  and  he  was 
preparing  to  retire,  when  his  ear  was  caught  by  a  strain  of  un- 
earthly music,  which  appeared  to  float  up,  thin  and  bodiless  as 
the  morning  mist,  from  the  falls  below;  and  having  hovered 
overhead  for  a  moment,  died  out  in  a  chain  of  bell-like  vibrations 
along  the  shores  of  the  river.  As  he  turned  his  eyes  in  the  direc- 
tion from  which  the  music  came,  he  saw  that  the  sun  had  long 
gone  down,  scarcely  a  trace  of  twilight  lingered  in  the  skies,  but 
a  fragment  of  the  moon  had  risen  to  the  left,  and  filled  the  far- 
stretching  landscape  with  a  tender  and  melancholy  brightness. 
Only  a  few  stars  were  visible  "  in  the  intense  inane;"  the  roar  of 
the  falls  was  hushed,  and  a  solemn  stillness  pervaded  the  air. 
The  impression  which  the  scene  produced  on  the  mind  of  the  be- 
wildered beholder  was  notably  increased  by  the  marvellous 
change  which  was  taking  place  in  the  character  and  conslitution 
of  the  cards.  Some  unseen  magician  had  surely  waved  his  wand 
above  them,  and  transformed  the  slips  of  paper  into  the  fantastic 
shapes  which  they  were  assuming.  The  four  queens  were  quickly 
changed  into  winged  fairies,  which  soared  up  gracefully  from 
the  sward,  their  airy  drapery  and  wings,  spotted  with  peacocks' 
eyes,  gleaming  in  the  imperfect  moonlight.  Then  the  kings  were 
divested  of  their  uncouth  robes,  and  transformed  into  slender 
elves,  each  with  a  blue  bell  on  his  head  for  a  crown.  The 
knaves,  by  a  similarly  confounding  process,  were  changed  into 


172  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

little  old  men,  with  hard,  wry,  roguish  faces,  and  decrepit  bodies. 
They  wore  odd  little  hats,  with  trianguLir  brims,  and  such  queer 
jerkins  and  breeches,  that  Mike  laughed  outright  as  he  watched 
them.  As  for  the  common  cards,  they  were  transformed  into  a 
brood  of  small  fairy-like  forms,  whose  backs  and  breast^  were 
thickly  spotted  with  clubs,  spades,  hearts  and  diamonds.  These 
latter  tumbled  about  on  the  sward  with  uproarious  merriment, 
and  indulged  in  the  quaintest  grimaces  and  the  shrillest  laughs. 
Suddenly  a  fresh  burst  of  music  rose  from  the  falls;  this  time  a 
gay  dancing  measure.  Directly  the  card  fait  les  formed  sets  and 
chose  partners,  and  fell  to  tripping  one  of  the  gayest  double  reels 
which  Mike  ever  witnessed.  A  couple  of  elves,  mounted  on  the 
backs  of  black-winged  bats,  sailed  about  in  the  air,  and  eventu- 
ally ran  a  race  to  the  corner  of  the  moon  for  a  dc^rberry  handi- 
cap. The  queen  of  hearts  and  diamonds,  applying  two  fox-glove 
blossoms  to  their  mouths,  gave  the  signal  for  the  start,  and  away 
went  the  jockeys.  At  the  same  time,  the  queen  of  spades  and 
clubs  flew  over  Mike's  head,  and  dropped  golden  furze  blossoms 
on  his  hat,  which,  as  they  rolled  ofTthe  leaf,  tickled  his  ears,  and 
caused  him  to  roar  from  a  sense  of  exquisite  enjoyment.  Mean- 
while, the  elves  continued  to  foot  it  featly  on  the  delicate  tops  of 
the  slender  brome  grass,  and  with  such  dexterous  energy  that 
Mike  felt  it  impossible  t6  suppress  his  admiration,  and  cried  out 
at  the  top  of  his  voice:  "More  power  to  ye,  there  is  not  a 
betther. ' ' 

The  words  were  scarcely  uttered  when  the  king  of  hearts,  a 
dapper  little  fellow,  who  was  stretching  his  legs  on  a  leaf  of  wild 
lavender,  marched  up  to  him,  and,  placing  his  haaids  behind  his 
back,  exclaimed: 

"  Musha,  is  that  you,  Mike  DriscoU  ?  Happy  Christmas  to 
you,  Mick,  but  arn't  you  afeard  of  catchin'  cowld  on  the  broad 
o'  yer  back,  there  ?" 

"  Sorra  afeard,"  replied  Mike;  "the  night  isn't  hot  surely, 
but  it  isn't  cowld,  and — " 

"Mayl)e,"  says  the  king,  "ye'd  have  no  objection,  ma 
bouchal,  to  a  dhrop  o'  the  native.     We  keep  the  best  you  e>«er 


MIKE    DRISCOLL    AND   THE    FAIRIES.  1 73 

clapped  eyes  on,  and  betune    you  and  me,   it  never  paid  duty 
aither." 

"If  it'sconvanient,  I  could  dispinse  with  it,"  said  Mike;  "but 
none  o'  yer  thricks,  mind.  Isn'i  it  the  quarest  thing  on  airth,"  he 
contimted,  «'  that  I  got  the  whole  lock,  stock  and  barrel  o'  ye 
for  a  few  pence  from  Betty  Houlihan  this  morning,  and  here 
ye're  caperin'  and  flulterin'  about  in  such  grand  style  as  if  yer 
had  the  riches  of  Daymur  at  yer  backs  ?"  ^ 

"  Keep  yer  insinivations  to  ycr.self,"  says  the  king,  and  his 
face  grew  red  with  anger.  "  Yer  dirty  hints  won't  sarve  you 
here,  I  can  tell  you,  Mike  Driscoll.  If  you  wish  to  behave  da- 
cent,  we'll  tlirate  you  dacent;  and  to  show  you  that  we  mane 
right,  have  a  dhrop  o'  comfort  afore  we  go  farther."  So  say- 
ing, the  king  handed  M'.ke  a  bottle  with  centuries  of  cobwebs 
clogged  around  its  neck  and  sides. 

Before  putting  the  bottle  to  his  mouth,  so.nething  prompted 
Mike  to  look  into  it.  Instead  of  being  full  of  whiskey  it  con- 
tained a  blue  vapor,  in  the  middle  of  which  he  perceived,  float- 
ing about,  the  resemblance  of  a  little  girl,  who,  it  was  assumed, 
had  been  stolen  by  the  fairies  from  her  parents  more  than  six 
years  before.  As  he  wai  opening  his  lips  to  speak  to  her,  she 
motioned  him  to  keep  silent,  and  then  whispered:  "  Mike,  dar- 
lint,  beware,  and  don't  ate  nor  dhrink  with  them."  He  laid  the 
bottle  down  in  astonishment,  and  looked  at  the  king. 

"Ye're  very  timperate  iv  late,  Mike,"  said  the  king.  "Is 
it  because  you  don't  like  the  color  iv  it?" 

"Troth,and  it'snotbadat  all,"  replied  Mike,  "but  I'd  rather 
not  take  it  jest  now.  If  yer  majesty  will  lave  it  to  me  a  while, 
I  promise  to  finish  it  before  the  night  is  over." 

"  Faith,  an'  yer  more  than  welcome  to  it.  Put  it  in  yer  pocket, 
Mike,  and  step  across  here  till  I  have  the  honor  and  glory  of  in- 
troducing you  to  the  Queen." 

Mike  followed  the  King  across  the  grass  to  wbsre  her  majesty 
was  rocking  herself  to  sleep  on  a  bit  of  crowfoot. 

"  Are  you  awake,  darlint?"  said  the  King;  "  bekase  if  you  are, 
I'd  like  ye'd  make  the  acquaintance  of  this  fine  fellow  here." 


174  THE   ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

The  Queen,  who  was  decidedly  handsome,  opened  her  eyes 
languidly  and  gazed  on  Mike.  "  Would  you  be  after  dancin'  a 
double  with  me,  young  man  ?"  she  asked. 

Mike  bowed  to  the  ground.  "Would  a  cat  drink  new  milk, 
ma'am?"  was  his  reply. 

"Ye're  a  flattherer,  Mike  DriscoU,"  said  the  Queen,  blushing 
to  the  eyebrows.  "  Faith,  ye're  great  at  the  blarney,  anyiiow. 
Ted,"  she  continued,  addressing  the  King,  ♦'  will  ye  ptrt  yer  fin- 
ger in  yer  mouth,  and  whistle  for  the  prime  minister  J" 

The  King  smiled  and  obeyed.  In  less  than  a  minute  the  Knave 
of  Hearts  made  his  appearance. 

"  Ye're  not  dhrunk  yet,  are  you?"  asked  the  Queen,  thought- 
fully. 

"  Dickens  a  dhrop  more  than  two  I  tuk,"  replied  the  Knave, 
and  as  he  spoke  both  his  ears  shot  up  like  a  pair  of  straight  homs 
at  each  side  of  his  head. 

"  Thin  as  ye're  not,"  said  her  majesty,  "  pick  out  the  purtiest 
pair  o'  pumps  in  the  chest  o'  dhrawers,  and  put  them  on  Mr. 
DriscoU,  for  he's  condescinded  to  dance  a  double  with  your 
misthriss." 

"  Oh,  ma'am  !"  ejaculated  Mike,  "  faith,  as  for  the  condescin- 
sion,  it's  all  the  other  way,  indeed." 

"Hould  your  bladdherin', "  says  the  Queen,  "  hould  your 
bladdherin',  will  you?" 

The  Knave,  who  had  disappeared,  returned  in  a  moment,  and 
fitted  Mike  in  a  pair  of  beautiful  pumps,  with  green  heels  and 
rosettes  at  the  insteps. 

"  'Tis  nale  they  look,  Mr.  DriscoU,"  observed  kcr  majesty, 
"but  a  plumper  pair  o'  calves  than  yours  I  never  seed  afore. 
Och,  'tis  you  must  play  the  dickens  intirely  with  the  girls,  it  is." 

"Axin' your  ladyship's  pardon,"  exclaimed  Mike,  "  but  I'm 
as  innocent  as  the  babe  unborn." 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !"  roared  the  Knave,  giving,  at  the  same  lime, 
a  diabolical  grin,  which  distended  his  mouth  almost  to  his  ears. 
"Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

With  a  look  of  supreme  contempt  at  the  ugly  scoSer,  the 


MIKE    DRISCOLL    AND    THE    FAIRIES.  1 75 

Queen  gave  Mike  her  hand,  and  led  him  to  the  middle  of  the 
lawn,  where  they  mingled  with  the  other  royalties,  male  emd  fe- 
male. 

*'  Have  a  dhrop  before  you  begin,  Mike  ?"  said  the  Queen  of 
Diamonds,  who  glittered  from  head  to  foot  with  shining  jewels, 
at  the  same  time  pointing  to  the  bottle,  the  neck  of  which  was 
visible  above  his  pocket. 

Mike  bowed.  "  I'm  as  thankful  to  you,  ma'am,  as  if  I  tuk  it; 
but  it's  nayther  here  nor  there  until  the  blood  gets  heated;  when 
that  biles,  I'll  cool  it." 

Diamonds  smiled  graciously.  "May  I  make  bould  to  ax  yer 
hand  for  the  next  set  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Faix,  an'  you  may,  and  welcome.  When  the  Queen  o' 
Hearts  gets  wake,  I'm  yer  man,  my  lady.  Whoo  !  there's  the 
music." 

An  unseen  orchestra  struck  up  a  lively  tune,  and  Mike,  having 
led  his  partner  up  and  down  in  approved  fashion,  placed  his 
arms  akimbo,  and  began  to  foot  it  with  an  energy  which  aston- 
ished the  denizens  of  fairy -land  around  him.  Now  he  flung  up 
his  right  hand,  snapped  his  fingers  with  a  great  thwack,  which 
made  the  grasses  tremble;  now  he  retired,  throwing  his  heels 
right  and  left,  and  making  the  long  tails  of  his  coat  fly  about 
distractedly. 

"  He's  a  rale  jewel,"  says  the  Queen  of  Spades. 

"Did  you  ever  see  the  likes  of  him  ?"  says  her  Majesty  of 
Clubs. 

"  Remember  your  promise  tome,  Mike,"  whispered  the  Queen 
of  Diamonds. 

And  the  Kings  swore  he  was  the  best  fellow  in  their  dominions, 
and  the  Knaves  grinned  with  inextinguishable  laughter,  whilst  the 
common  cards  went  bobbing  up  and  down,  with  the  most  comical 
gravity  imaginable.  Suddenly  the  Queen  of  Diamonds  gave  a 
little  shriek,  and  ran  limping  to  a  bed  of  wild  thyme,  where  she 
lay  down  in  apparent  agony. 

"What  ails  my  delight?"  screamed  her  royal  consort,  rushing 
to  her  side;  "  what's  the  matter,  avourneen  ?" 


176  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"Oh,  nothin'  at  all,  at  all,"  says  the  Queen. 

"  It's  ill  said  of  you,"  says  the  King;  "  and  by  my  twelve  re- 
tainers, I'll  know  the  ins  and  outs  of  it." 

"  Troth,  an'  as  ye're  so  curious,  I'll  tell  ye;  Mr.  Driscollthrod 
on  my  corns — there." 

"The  flamin'  blackguard,"  says  the  King.  "  Boys,"  said  he 
to  the  Knaves,  "  take  that  boccaiigh,  and  baste  him  green  with 
nettles;  bad  luck  to  his  ugly  crubeens  to-night." 

The  other  royal  personages  hastened  to  interpose  in  behalf  of 
Mike;  and  after  a  great  deal  of  solicitation,  backed  up  by  the 
prayers  of  the  wounded  Queen,  he  was  pardoned. 

"It'll  be  all  right,  darlint,"  said  the  Queen  of  Hearts,  bend- 
ing over  the  beautiful  invalid.  "  Put  a  bit  o'  brown  soap  to  it, 
and  'twill  be  well  afore  ye're  twice  married." 

Kneeling  down  at  the  poor  Queen's  feet,  Mike  took  her  foot 
in  his  hand  and  began  to  chafe  it,  an  operation  which  appeared  to 
afford  the  sufferer  no  small  delight.  At  the  same  time,  a  dapper 
little  gentleman,  in  an  oddly -shaped  hat,  commenced  to  tickle  the 
left  side  of  his  nose,  whilst  a  pair  of  elves  attempted  to  pull  the 
bottle  from  his  right  pocket,  and  others  poured  showers  of  gold 
doubloons  into  his  bosom. 

"  Does  it  pain  you  much,  ma'am  ?"  he  asked,  with  a  languish- 
ing look  at  the  royal  sufferer. 

She  smiled.  "  Bcgor,  Mike,"  she  said,  "pain  from  you  is  a 
thrate.  Are  you  tired  o'  dancin'  ?  bekase,  if  you're  not,  I'd  like 
to  thry  a  minuet  with  you." 

"  You're  welcome  to  it  for  a  whole  hour,"  replied  Mr.  Driscoll. 
"Wliat'U  be  plasin'  to  you  ?" 

"A  minuet,  Mike,  a  minuet." 

"  Oh,  consamin'  the  time,  I  lave  that  to  yourself;  but  what 
would  ye  like  ?     Are  you  partial  to  a  jig,  ma'am  ?'' 

The  Queen  laughed  outright. 

"We'll  dance  a  min-u-et,  Mr.  Driscoll,  if  you  plaise.  Didn't 
you  ever  thry  one  ?"  she  asked. 

"Oh,  now  I  have  it.  No,  thin,  I  didn't.  I  contracted  with 
Tim  Hinchy  for  three  ha'pence  a  step,  but  he  chaled  me  out  o' 


MIKE   DRISCOLL    AND    THE    FAIRIES,  I77 

that  dance,  ma'am.  Will  ye  be  quiet,  there,  ye  tasin'  divils? 
Ma'am,  spake  a  word  or  two  to  Paudheen,  and  inthrate  him  to 
lave  off  ticklin'  my  nose.  Curse  o'  Cromwell  on  ye,  and  lave 
the  bottle  alone — what's  it  doin'  to  ye?  Can't  ye  thry  and  be- 
have like  Christhins — eh,  can't  ye  ?" 

At  a  wave  of  the  Queen's  hand  the  elves  desisted. 

♦•There's  the  Queen  of  Hearts,"  she  said;  "mind,  she'll  be 
jealous  o'  me,  Mike." 

*•  Troth,  tliin,  'tis  ill  would  become  her.  Is  she  spliced  yet  ?  I 
suppose  ould  Bullock  Heart  is  her  husband." 

Diamonds  was  about  to  reply,  when  her  royal  sister  seated  her- 
self at  her  side,  and  thus  prevented  Mike's  curiosity  from  being 
gratified.  At  a  signal  from  the  Queen  of  Clubs,  the  whole  com- 
pany threw  themselves  in  various  positions  on  the  grass;  and  as 
the  Knave  of  Diamonds  clapped  his  hands,  the  ground  opened, 
and  a  round  table,  heaped  with  a  sumptuous  banquet,  rose  m 
their  midst.  To  all  solicitations  to  eat  and  make  merry,  Mike, 
who  remembered  the  warning  of  the  captive  in  the  bottle,  gave  a 
firm  but  respectful  refusal. 

"Thry  some  of  our  blackberry  jam?"  asked  the  Queen  of 
Spades. 

*' Shall  I  send  you  a  lark's  leg,  darlint?"  said  the  Queen  of 
Hearts. 

«♦  Or  a  juicy  slice  from  the  sirloin  of  frog?"  suggested  the  King 
of  Clubs. 

"  I  ax  your  pardons  all  round,"  said  Mike,  "but  I  couldn't  ate 
another  morsel." 

As  Mike  said  this,  he  felt  a  tiny  head  laid  lovingly  on  his 
shoulder,  and  heard  the  Queen  of  Hearts  whisper: 

"  Ah,  thin,  Mr.  Driscoll,  were  you  ever  coorlin'  ?" 

"Why,  thin,  not  to  say  much,  ma'am.  There  was  a  girl  o' 
the  Bradys  that  I  had  a  likin'  for,  and  was  goin'  to  be  married  to 
her,  till  we  fell  out  about  a  feather-bed  and  a  goat.  We  wouldn't 
give,  and  they  wouldn't  take,  and  there  was  an  ind  of  it." 

The  Queen  sighed.  "And  did  you  never  love  any  one  since, 
Mr.  Driscoll?" 


178  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"Begor,  thin,  I'm  afeard  I  did,"  replied  Mike;  "greatly 
afeard  itself." 

"  Her  name  wasn't  Brady,  Mike — was  it  ?" 

"  Begor,  thin,  yer  right  enough,  ma'am,  it  wasn't  Brady;  'twas 
the— the— " 

"  The  what,  darlint  ?" 

**Why,  'twas  the  Queen  o'  Hearts,  ma'am;"  and  as  Mike 
made  this  terrible  confession,  he  wound  his  arm  round  the  Queen's 
neck,  and  imprinted  a  kiss  on  her  cheek  with  so  much  vehemence 
that  the  report  resounded  like  a  clap  of  thunder  over  the  locality. 
Kings,  queens,  knaves  and  commoners  sprang  to  their  feet. 
"Treason!"  "Revenge!"  "Kill  him!"  "Sting  him  to 
death  !"  were  the  first  cries  which  arose  from  the  tumult. 

"Tie  his  heels  together,"  cried  the  Knave  of  Hearts,  "and 
hang  him  out  o'  the  moon." 

"Give  us  a  garter,  Peggy,"  said  the  King  of  Hearts  to  his 
wife. 

The  lady  parted  with  the  ligature  with  evident  unwillingness, 
and  Mike's  ankles  were  bound  together  in  a  trice.  A  cold  sweat 
burst  out  through  the  pores  of  his  body,  and  he  grew  powerless 
in  the  presence  of  the  terrible  doom  which  he  had  earned  by  his 
rashness.  In  vain  he  remonstrated,  pleaded  and  wept.  A  power 
he  was  unable  to  resist  lifted  him  on  the  backs  of  four  giganlic 
bats,  and  in  three  seconds  he  was  being  whirled  towards  the 
moon,  attended  by  all  the  fairy  company.  The  planet  was 
reached  in  less  than  ten  minutes,  and  Mick  felt  almost  sick  to 
death  from  the  smell  of  stale  cheese  that  pervaded  the  atmos. 
phere. 

"Hang  him  to  this  comer,"  cried  the  King  of  Hearts. 
"  We'll  let  him  see  he  don't  kiss  our  wife  for  nothing." 

"She  can  have  it  back,  if  'twill  please  your  majesty,"  said 
Mike.     "  I  mint  no  harm." 

"  Here's  a  nice  cmmbledy  corner  to  tie  him  to;  'twill  break 
away  in  an  hour,  and  then  he'll  be  made  porridge  of,"  roared 
the  Knave  of  Hearts. 

A  suitable  spot  was  at  length  selected,  and  Mike,  hanging  head 


MIKE    DRISCOLL    AND   THE    FAIRIES.  1 79 

downwards  between  earth  and  heaven,  was  left  swinging  about  in 
a  storm  which  agitated  the  lonely  lunar  regions.  Far  below  he 
could  see  the  world,  and,  when  the  wind  lulled,  could  catch  the 
roar  of  the  Falls.  His  head  grew  dizzy,  his  heart  sank  within 
him,  and,  clasping  his  hands  together,  he  exclaimed,  "May  the 
Lord  have  mercy  on  me."  The  words  had  not  died  on  his  lips 
when  the  comer  of  the  moon  he  was  hooked  to  snapped  off,  and 
he  fell — down  deeper,  and  deeper,  and  deeper!  The  stars  shot 
past  him,  as  he  descended  with  the  velocity  of  an  aerolite;  and, 
before  he  had  time  to  bless  himself,  he  alighted,  with  a  great 
bound,  on  the  world,  narrowly  escaping  a  plunge  into  the  roar- 
ing Falls.  He  started  up,  he  rabbed  his  eyes — what  was  this  ? 
Where  was  the  moon  ?  and  where  were  his  tormentors  ?  He  was 
lymg  in  the  middle  of  the  "Fairies'  Wake,"  on  the  identical 
spot  where  he  had  taken  the  last  draught  of  whisky  on  return- 
ing homeward.  Everything  was  quiet,  not  a  leaf  stirred;  it  was 
long  past  midnight,  and  the  full,  round  moon  of  Christmas  had 
begun  to  set.  Looking  up  to  the  descending  planet,  he  ex- 
claimed, "  'Twas  a  power  of  a  fall  intirely.  I  wondher  was  the 
bottle  broke  !"  An  examination  of  his  pocket  convinced  him 
that  it  had  not  sustained  a  fiacture;  and,  to  his  astonishment,  the 
cards  were  all  safe,  and  tightly  packed  together.  "  Afther  all," 
he  soliloquized,  "I  was  only  dhramin';  but  old  brogues  to  me, 
if  I  play  cards  agin  in  a  hurry — Sunday  or  Monday,  or  holiday, 
aither.  What  the  deuce  has  got  into  the  bottle  ?"  Holding  the 
flask  between  his  eyes  and  the  light,  he  perceived  something 
moving  up  and  down  the  inside.  For  a  moment  he  was  con- 
vinced that  it  was  the  spectral  child,  who  had  warned  him  to  re- 
ject all  offers  of  food  and  drink  from  the  fairies,  but,  breaking  the 
vessel,  he  discovered  that  it  was  only  a  field  frog.  Stiff  and  sore 
in  every  joint,  he  rose  up  and  plodded  homewards. 

"You  see,  Milce,"  said  his  mother,  when  he  had  recounted  in 
detail  the  experiences  of  the  night,  "that  there's  nayther  luck 
nor  grace  in  card-playin',  for  if  you  had  gone  where  you  ought, 
the  Good  People  couldn't  trouble  you." 

"Thrue  enough,   mother,"  he  replied;    "but  wait  till  I  go 


l8o  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

card-playin'   agin,   and  you'll   be   diggin'    tae   praties  on   New 
Year's  Day." 

"There,  go  where  ye  ought  to  go,"  he  exclaimed,  throwing 
the  new  cards  into  the  fire.  "It's  moighty  plain  that  people  who 
ride  steeplechases  on  bats  and  dine  on  frog  sirloins  aren't  fit  com- 
pany for  honest  Christians.  And,  mother,  ye'U  never  agin  have 
to  fall  out  wid  me  about  my  duty ;  and  here,  may  the  Lord  send 
us  all  A  HUNDRED  HaPPY  ChRISTMASES." 


TOM    KEARNEY.  l8l 


TOM  KEARNEY. 


Some  two  score  years  ago,  or  over,  on  the  road  to  Coal  Island, 
in  the  county  of  Tyrone,  lived  Jack  McConnaughey,  the  black- 
smith. I  remember  him  well,  and  his  appearance.  To  the 
shoulders  he  was  about  middle  height,  but  his  exceedingly  long, 
thin,  scraggy  neck,  made  him  fully  two  or  three  inches  taller. 

Jack  was  a  prudent,  careful,  and  extremely  frugal  soul,  who 
regarded  any  kind  of  waste  on  his  premises  as  an  unpardonable 
sin.  Yet  he  did  not  stand  very  high  in  the  esteem  of  his  neigh- 
bors; they  failed  utterly  to  award  him  either  merit  or  respect  for 
his  saving  virtues;  on  the  contrary,  they  designated  him  "  a  mis- 
erable old  crj[o."  He  had  a  simple  simpering  manner  withal  that 
indi:ai,2d  anything  but  the  skinflint  he  really  v/as.  In  the  words 
of  Tom  Kearney,  who  was  once  his  journeyman,  "Jack  was  very 
soft  about  the  mouth  till  you  came  to  feel  his  teeth."  Tom, 
however,  was  somewhat  prejudiced  in  the  matter,  as  the  reader 
most  likely  will  find  out. 

Jack  never  manied,  and  there  were  those  who  were  ill-natured 
enough  to  regard  the  fact  as  a  wise  and  beneficent  stroke  of  Pro- 
vidence. It  was  said  that  he  had  an  old  stocking  hid  away 
somewhere,  and  upon  it  all  his  affections  concentrated  and  into  it 
went  every  spvereign,  half-crown  and  shilling  his  anvil  yielded. 
Even  the  priest  declared  he  "could  not  get  a  rap  out  of  him  but 
the  bare  dues  that  he  couldn't  help."  His  sister  Nancy  kept  his 
house,  and  was  said  to  be  the  countei-part  of  Jack  himself,  but 
Tom  Kearney  insisted  that,  bad  as  Jack  was,  Nancy  was  ten  times 
worse. 


X82  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

Tom  was  not  a  native  of  the  place;  he  was  a  Leinster  man 
that  tramped  in  there  some  years  before,  and  got  employment 
from  Jack  McComiaughey,  not  knowing  anything  about  him  at 
the  time;  as  he  verified  afterwards,  he  "would  as  soon  stay  in 
h — 1  as  wid  ould  Nancy."' 

Tom  Kearney  was  a  superior  workman,  deeply  versed  in  the 
mysterious  secrets  of  his  trade;  could  make  a  plow  or  any  other 
jnechanism  fashioned  in  a  forge,  only  give  him  the  pattern.  At 
shoeing  horses  he  had  no  superior,  and  many  believed  he  had  no 
equal.  At  periods,  ranging  from  four  to  six  months,  Tom  would 
gooff  on  a  spree,  get  gloriously  drunk,  and  keep  it  up  for  a  week 
or  over.  Then  came  a  season  of  repentance,  in  which  he  labored 
with  sickness  and  headache  for  several  days  more.  During  those 
special  seasons  of  regret  he  was  invariably  the  propounder  of 
many  wise  and  moral  sayings  on  thefolly  of  drunkenness,  always 
ending  with  the  most  strongly  affirmed  resolutions  and  solemn 
promises  to  avoid  the  cursed  thmg  for  the  time  to  come.  Many 
farmers  and  others  liked  Tom's  workmanship  so  well,  that  if 
their  horses  needed  shoeing  during  his  aberrations,  they  would 
keep  them  back  until  he  got  sober  again.  He  had  not  lx:en  long 
in  McConnaughey's  employment  when  his  talent  brought  busi- 
ness crowding  to  Jack's  forge,  and  the  latter,  though  he  found 
him  profitable,  took  advantage  of  the  stranger,  paid  him  as  little 
wages  as  possible  notwithstanding  his  superior  workmanship. 

Barney  Muldoon  was  another  blacksmith,  living  at  the  cross 
roads,  some  two  miles  off,  and  a  generous  good  fellow,  who  used 
to  have  a  good  deal  of  business  to  do,  but  Jack's  new  journey- 
man took  the  shine  out  of  them  all.  Tom  in  the  meantime  did 
not  like  his  quarters,  and  was  saving  up  what  money  he  could  to 
get  away  from  the  place;  this  was  the  reason  why  that  for  six 
mortal  months  he  never  tasted  barley  juice.  He  was  preparing 
to  leave,  when,  on  a  Sunday,  he  met  Barney  Muldoon  for  the  first 
time,  and  after  the  usual  salutations  were  over  the  latter  invited 
Tom  to  a  social  drink,  and  off  they  went  together.  Barney  was 
a  genial,  warm-hearted  fellow,  and  Tom,  feelmg  tlie  mfluence, 
could  not  resist.     Hour  after  hour  of  cosy  enjoyment  stole  over 


TOM   KEARNEY.  1 83 

them,  conversing  about  their  trade  and  other  interesting  matters, 
until  it  was  night  before  they  departed.  Barney  went  home  and 
was  at  his  work  next  day,  but  Tom  went  on  a  spree,  and  contin- 
ued at  it  till  all  his  money  was  gone. 

The  time  for  jollification  was  over  at  last,  and  the  time  for  re- 
pentance come;  his  head  ached  fearfully,  augmented  by  conjoint 
lectures  from  Jack  and  Nancy  for  neglecting  his  work,  "and 
money  so  hard  to  be  got."  Tom  wall^ed  out  to  escape  the  cross- 
fire of  tantalizing  words  and  did  not  return.  Jack  was  soon  in  the 
fidgets  to  laiow  where  he  went  or  what  had  become  of  him,  when 
sometime  during  the  next  week  he  made  the  terrible  discovery 
that  Tom  Kearney  was  hard  at  work  in  Barney  Muldoon's  forge! 
This  news  was  very  irritating — Barney  Muldoon  to  take  away  his 
journeyman  !  He  went  there  to  know  how  any  one  dared  do  it. 
As  he  approached  the  place,  however,  the  thing  began  to  look  a 
little  different  to  his  view;  he  knew  it  would  not  be  safe  to  say 
much  to  Barney,  and  so  he  addressed  himself  to  Tom,  who  felt 
little  disposed  to  treat  liim  even  civilly.  Tom's  head  was  quite 
recovered  now;  he  was  getting  better  wages,  and  not  at  all  the 
meek  creature  he  was  when  weak,  sick  and  nervous,  just  after  the 
spree.  He  ordered  McConnaughey  to  leave,  or,  if  not,  he  was 
preparing  for  hostile  demonstrations.  Being  an  active,  powerful 
young  man,  and  looking  cross  at  Jack,  the  latter  took  the  hint 
and  departed  at  the  same  time.  Feeling  his  loss  acutely,  he 
judged  that  as  soon  as  it  went  forth  that  Tom  had  left  him,  his 
business,  now  so  flourishing,  would  soon  fall  back  into  the  old 
ruts  again,  and  maybe  worse. 

His  anticipation  was  not  incorrect,  for  Barney  soon  got  all  the 
horse-shoeing  he  could  do  in  consequence.  .Still  Jack  did  not 
give  up  hope  of  coaxing  Tom  back  again,  an  accession  of  which 
he  felt  the  need,  for  even  now  that  winter  was  approaching,  he 
had  little  or  nothing  to  do.  He  was  never  done  accusing  himself 
for  letting  Tom  gof  and  was  earnestly  wishing  for  an  opportunity 
of  taJiing  with  him,  away  from  Barney  Muldoon's  presence. 
Thus,  with  his  mind  tormented  in  this  way,  the  time  was  come  to 
lay  hi  Ills  year's  stock  of  coals  for  the  forge,  according  to  his  cus- 


l84  THE   ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

torn.  He  had  got  a  load  or  two  from  the  Island,  and  was  going  for 
more,  when  passing  by  the  public  house,  a  mile  or  so  from  his 
own  place,  on  a  fine  day,  somebody  called  him  from  the  mside. 
He  went  over  to  see  who  it  was,  and  had  scarcely  got  in  when  his 
attention  was  directed  to  a  man  lying  helplessly  drunk  and 
asleep,  who  turned  out  to  be  no  other  than  his  journeyman,  Tom 
Kearney. 

The  meeting  seemed  providential,  but  how  was  he  going  to 
improve  the  opportunity,  and  the  fellow  so  dead  drunk  ?  A  bright 
thought  occurred  to  Jack;  that  he  would  take  Tom  along  in  his 
cart  to  the  coal  pits,  and  when  the  latter  awoke  he  might  induce 
him  to  return  and  domicile  with  Nancy  agam.  Full  of  this  pro- 
mising project,  he  got  more  straw  into  his  vehicle,  and  with  the 
help  of  fcome  bystanders  he  succeeded  in  transferring  Tom  to  it, 
more  like  a  dead  man  than  a  living  one.  Jack  drove  on  to  the 
pits;  though  it  was  a  long  way,  he  arrived  there  at  last,  and  still 
his  charge  slept  fast  as  ever.  He  immediately  sought  out  Bryan 
Campbell,  his  first  cousin,  to  whom  he  communicated  all  his 
troubles  and  desires;  how  he  wished  to  get  Tom  back,  and  the 
ruse  he  had  practised  in  order  to  get  him  to  return. 

Now,  Bryan  Campbell  was  the  wag  of  the  coal  mines,  an  in- 
veterate practical  joker.  He  was  a  man  of  considerable  intelli- 
gence, and  though  he  indulged  in  the  social  bowl  occasionally, 
few  ever  saw  him  dnmk.  He  was  the  very  centre  of  all  the  fun 
amongst  the  miners,  and  when  he  went  on  a  game  of  sport,  all 
obeyed  him  as  a  commander.  Though  McConnaughey  was  his 
near  relative,  he  had  little  respect  for  him,  knowing  his  niggardly 
disposition  well. 

"What'U  ye  give  me,"  said  Bryan,  "  if  I  git  this  fellow  to  go 
back  till  you?" 

Jack  was  willing  to  promise  him  almost  anything  if  he  only 
effected  that.  Camplx;ll  got  Tom  carefully  into  the  bucket  with 
himself,  and  both  were  lowered  down  the  shaft.  The  sleeper  was 
conveyed  with  quiet  caution  into  a  coal  chamber  which  has  little 
resemblance  to  the  lady's  chamber.  There  he  was  peaceably 
divested  of  his  clothing.     An  old  blanket,  procured  for  the  occa- 


TOM    KEARNEY.  1 85 

don,  was  wrapped  round  him,  and  he  was  tranquilly  placed  by 
his  conductor,  sitting  by  a  great  pillar  of  coal,  just  as  the  inebriate 
was  showing  some  signs  of  returning  animation. 

Tom,  at  lengtii,  had  gradually  slept  off  his  drunken  stupor,  and 
opened  his  eyes;  it  was  all  dark  around  him.  He  tried  hard  to 
recollect  himself  where  he  went  asleep,  but  his  memory  was 
sorely  at  fault;  he  could  not  recall  the  most  distant  glimmer.  He 
remembered  being  at  Sam  McVicker's  public  house,  where  the 
big  picture  of  King  William  crossing  the  Boyne  was  up;  and  how 
Sam  saved  him  from  a  set  of  Orangemen,  who  were  about  to 
pound  him  for  cursing  ICing  Billy — but  where  was  he  now  ?  He 
felt  sick,  his  throat  was  dry  and  husky,  and  oh,  how  bitterly  he 
regretted  going  on  that  infernal  spree,  and  he  doing  so  well  with 
Barney  MuJdoon.  He  soon  discovered  he  was  naked,  with  noth- 
ing but  an  old  blanket  round  him.  Where  were  his  clothes,  or 
where  did  he  lose  them  ?  He  was  sensible  of  a  strong  odor  of 
brimstone,  very  ominous;  and  again  the  terribly  perplexing 
question  smote  him — where  was  he  now  ?  He  heard  the  miners 
pickings  but  he  did  not  understand  it;  he  had  never  seen  a  coal 
pit  in  hb  life,  nor  had  he  the  remotest  notion  of  what  it  looked 
like,  and  of  course  the  least  suspicion  of  where  he  was  never 
entered  his  thoughts. 

Poor  Tom  was  thus  seriously  and  sadly  ruminating,  his  usually 
strong  nerves  unstrung  and  his  system  weakened  down,  for  he  had 
eaten  no  food  for  nearly  a  week — when  he  saw  some  strange 
looking  beings  approaching,  each  with  a  light  on  his  head  !  They 
came  and  ranged  silently  around  him.  He  could  see  they  were 
black,  and  for  fear  of  exposing  his  nakedness  he  drew  the  blanket 
closer  round  him.  After  standing  some  time  in  silence,  one  of 
these  mysterious  visitors  spoke  at  last,  and  he  heard  in  solemn 
tones;     "  What  is  your  name  ?" 

"My  name,"  said  he,  "  is  Tom  Kearney;  but  tell  me,  if  you 
please  sir,  where  am  I  now,  or  what  place  is  this?" 

"  Don't  you  know  without  asking  ?  Can't  you  see  we're  all 
black?     And  don't  you  smell  the  brimstone?" 


|86  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"Oh,"  said  Tom,  groaning  inwardly,  "how  did  I  get  hei'C, 
and  what's  the  name  of  the  place  ?" 

"  You  got  here  as  all  like  you  get.  You  died  drunk,  and  why 
need  you  ask  the  name  of  tlie  place  ?" 

"  Am  I  dead?"  said  Tom,  now  fairly  sobered. 

♦'  Of  course  you're  dead. ' ' 

"And  are  you  the — t\i2  imps?"  he  faintly  faltered. 

"Yes,  we're  the  imps,"  was  the  reply,  and  they  all  laughed, 
which  sounded  dreadfully  hellish  in  Tom's  ears. 

"  What  did  you  work  at  in  the  other  world  ?"  resumed  the  talk- 
ing imp  again. 

"I  was  a  blacksmith,"  said  Tom. 

"  Are  you  a  good  blacksmith  ?" 

"I  used  to  be  able  to  forge  almost  any  kind  of  a  job." 

"  Where  did  you  serve  your  time?" 

"  In  Dublin,  on  the  mail  coach  road,  with  Maguire,  that  used 
to  be  called  The  Big  Fish,  for  a  nick-name." 

"  Can  you  make  chains  and  bolts  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  can  make  bolts  after  a  pattern,  and  I  can  make  chains 
and  close  them  if  I  have  a  good  anvil," 

"  Ye'U  have  a  good  anvil,  and  ye'U  be  very  useful  here,  for 
we  want  a  lot  o'  chains  made,  and  bolts,  too,  for  there's  a  great 
deal  o'  quality  coming  here  just  now.  There's  Lord  Castle- 
reagh,  that  cut  his  throat  the  other  day;  ye've  heerd  o'  him, 
didn't  you?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Tom;  "but  wasn't  it  in  England  he  did 
that?" 

"  Oh,  aye,  indeed  was  it,  but  he  must  come  to  the  Irish  part 
o'  hell  for  his  punishment.  He  betrayed  and  roblx:d  Ireland, 
you  know,  and  it's  Irlslimen  must  keep  the  hat  blast  till  his  skin. 
He  is  the  traitor  that  sold  the  country  to  Billy  Pitt,  and  it's  their 
own  fault  if  they  let  the  fire  go  djw;a  on  liim — but  there's  no 
danger  o'  that.  We  use  traitors  tlic  worst  of  all  here.  The 
"98  "  informers  are  all  crammed  down  very  far — Tom  Reynolds 
is  undennost," 

Kearney  was  well  pleased  at  the  information  the  imp  gave 


TOM    KEARNEY.  l8f 

hhn.  He  thought  it  was  quite  right,  and  said  so.  His  lucid  in- 
formant asked  him  if  he  was  not  very  dry.  "  Yes,  mdeed,"  said 
Tom,  "  but  sure  you  have  nothing  to  drink  here  ?" 

"  Oh,  aye  have  we,  troth,  for  poor  fellows  like  you,"  and  to 
Tom's  astonishment  and  delight,  he  was  handed  a  small  tin  por- 
ringer fuU  of  pure  potteen.     He  smelled  of  it  and  drank  it  down 
gratefully,    remarking  how  good    it   was,    and   that  he  never  ' 
thought  they  had  such  good  whiskey  down  here. 

"  Hut,  man,"  said  the  imp,  '♦  why  wouldn't  it  be  good,  when 
it  was  down  in  hell  whiskey  was  first  made." 

Kearney  felt  much  better  after  this  kindness,  even  if  it  was  m 
hell,  and  would  have  stood  up  but  for  shame  of  his  nakedness.. 
Though  amongst  the  devils,  he  felt  shy  of  appearing  with  noth- 
ing but  an  old  blanket  around  him.  The  spokesman  fiend, 
noticing  his  inclination,  told  him  he  must  keep  sitting  until  he 
was  called,  and  continued  to  enlighten  him  on  the  usages  of  tiie 
nether  world. 

"You  see,"  he  resumed,  "we  do  things  down  here  a  good! 
deal  different  to  what  ye  thought.  In  the  other  world  the  rich, 
have  it  all  their  own  way,  and  have  no  marcy  on  the  poor,  so- 
we  turn  the  thing  right  around,  when  we  git  them  down  here,  and 
pay  them  back  in  their  own  coin.  All  the  punishment  we  give- 
till  the  poor  fellows  that  come  here  is  to  make  them  keep  the 
fires  up  till  the  rich  rascals,  for  all  their  persecutions  on  earth, 
and  it's  hardly  any  punishment  at  all  to  the  poor  to  do  this  work, 
for  most  o'  them  take  comfort  in  paying  back  ould  scores  to  the 
scoundrels  that  punished  themselves  above.  That's  the  way  we 
work  down  here.     Do  you  see  ?" 

Tom  did  see  and  appreciated,  too;  he  listened  very  attentively, 
though  it  was  a  new  system  of  theology  to  him;  he  had  never 
heard  it  before,  but  concluded  it  was  about  right. 

"  Yes,"  rejoined  the  fiend,  "  it  is  right,  and  many  of  the  ty- 
rants would  come  off  a  good  deal  worse,  only  the  people  they 
injured  went  up  to  the  other  place,  and  it's  drunkards  and  other 
poor  creatures  that  didn't  know  much  about  them,  that  must  at- 


100  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

tend  to  them  here;  but  they  keep  the  fire  up  to  them  purty  well 
for  all  that." 

The  imp  walked  off  to  some  other  place,  leaving  Kearney  in 
deep  thought;  he  soon  returned,  however,  and  accosted  his  vic- 
tim: 

"  Thomas  Kearney,  who  did  you  work  for  last  ?" 

"  For  Barney  Muldoon,  at  the  cross;  a  very  decent  man." 

"  And  who  did  you  work  for  before  that  ?" 

"  For  Jack  McConnaughey,  God  forgive  me." 

A  laugh  among  the  imps  followed  this  remark,  and  there  was 
a  mos-ement  behind  the  great  pillar  that  Tom  was  sitting  against; 
for  Jack  himself  was  there;  he  came  down  with  a  few  others  who 
waiitcd  io  see  the  fun,  though  to  him  it  was  no  fun  at  all,  but 
real  business.  He  could  not  restrain  himself,  or  leave  the  man- 
agement of  the  affair  to  Bryan;  he  was  so  much  interested  he 
must  cane  ep.ves-dropping.  It  is  an  old  saying  that  an  eaves- 
dropper seldom  hears  anything  creditable  or  pleasing  to  himself. 
Let  us  see  if  Jack's  experience  was  an  exception. 

"  Well,"  said  the  fiend,  who  was  no  other  than  Bryan  Camp- 
bell, "  why  did  you  leave  Jack  McConnaughey  ?" 

"For  very  good  reason,"  replied  Tom,  who,  by  the  way, 
grew  quite  familiar  since  he  got  the  drink,  "for  the  very  good 
reason  that  he  was  the  meanest  man  I  ever  knew." 

There  was  a  general  laugh  at  this,  and  Tom  was  surprised  to 
hear  it  echoed  in  different  directions  away  behind  him. 

"  Thomas  Kearney,"  said  the  dark  spokesman  again,  "if  you 
got  a  chance  to  get  out  o'  this  place  wouldn't  you  take  it  ?" 

"Why,  to  be  sure  I  would." 

"  Well,  now,  Thomas,  if  you  git  out  of  this  on  conditions  of 
gCHng  back  to  Jack  McConnaughey,  will  you  go  ? — but  mind, 
you  can't  break  any  bargam  you  make  here." 

This  was  a  terrible  and  serious  dilemma,  to  which  Tom  gave 
the  most  grave  consideration.  He  thought  of  Jack's  meanness — 
Nancy's  hard  visage  never  appeared  more  repulsive  to  him.  Feel- 
ing that  the  contract  must  be  binding,  he  had  much  difficulty  in 
making  up  his  mind,  but  notwithstandmg  this,  he  arrived  at  the 


TOM    KEARNEY.  1 89 

conclusion  finally.  McConnaughej',  from  behind  the  wall  of 
coal,  stretched  out  his  long  neck  and  listened  breathlessly,  think- 
ing he  was  to  have  his  journeyman  back  again. 

"Well,"  said  the  victim,  and  all  were  attentive,  "  from  all  you 
tell  me  about  this  place,  it's  not  so  bad  as  I  thought.  I'd  like 
to  scorch  ould  Castlereagh;  and  anyhow  I'd  rather  stay  here  than 
have  to  Kvc  my  life  with  Jack,  and  above  all  with  ould  Nancy  !" 

The  wild  roar  of  laughter  that  followed  this  declaration  star- 
tled poor  Kearney;  it  reverberated  all  around  through  the  dark 
space,  w^iere  he  could  not  see  any  one  or  any  tiling.  The  black 
fiends  seemod  all  merriment,  while  poor  Tom  could  not  under- 
stand the  cause.  Soon  the  spokesman  recovered  his  equanimity, 
and  he  returned  to  the  examination: 

"7"liQjnas  Kearney,  what  have  you  against  Jack  McConnaugh- 
ey  or  his  sister  Nancy  ?" 

"Well,"  began  Tom,  looking  at  the  crowd  of  imps  coming 
and  goiug  with  lights  on  their  heads,  "  I'll  tell  you  as  well  as  I 
can:  Jack  is  a  man  I  couldn't  bear  to  work  for;  if  he  was  paying 
me  a  shCling  I  earned  from  him,  he'd  squeeze  it  so  hard  atween 
bis  finger  and  thumb  that  you  could  read  tlie  date  o'  the  coin 
there  for  hours  after — faith,  his  own  neighbors  say  he'd  skin  a  flea 
for  the  hide  and  fat;  and  as  for  ould  Nancy — she's  ten  times 
worse;  she'd  starve  the  divil  with  her  thin  stirabout!  Gentle- 
men," be  added,  looking  hard  at  the  infemaLs,  "  I  don't  mean 
any  offence  to  you;  but  I  think  she  counts  the  grains  of  oatmeal 
going  into  the  pot." 

During  the  delivery  of  this  speech  the  imps  were  in  agonies 
of  lauglUer,  screaming  in  uproarious  glee,  after  which  many  of 
them  disappeared. 

"And  so,  Tom  Kearney,"  said  the  familiar  fiend,  "you'd 
rather  stay  here  than  with  old  Nancy  McConnaughey  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Tom,  who  began  to  feel  rather  sick  again, 
"  I'd  rather  stay  here  than  with  ould  Nancy  McConnaughey." 

"Well,"  said  the  familiar  voice,  "don't  you  think  you  could 
eat  something  now  ?" 


ipO  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"No,  I'm  too  sick;  but  I'd  take  another  drink  of  whiskey  if 
you  have  it." 

He  got  the  other  drink,  and  felt  hut  little  better  when  the 
friendly  fiend  nsked  him  if  he  could  sleep,  but  no  he  could  not. 

He  was  now  alone,  save  the  one  dark  habitant  who  spoke  to 
him  all  the  time,  and  who  now  addressed  him  in  a  solemn, 
friendly  manner: 

"  Tom  Kearney,  ye're  too  good  a  fellow  to  be  kept  here,  so  if 
you  let  me  bandage  your  eyes  and  bind  your  hands,  and  do 
everything  as  1  tell  you,  I  think  I  can  lead  you  out  and  set  you  at 
liberty." 

Tom  consented,  and  with  his  eyes  blindfolded,  the  other  led 
him  to  where  there  was  some  clothing,  and  told  him  to  dress 
himself  in  the  dark.  lie  wondered  how  the  clothes  fitted  him  so 
well;  they  felt  like  his  own.  His  hands  were  then  tied  securely 
behind  his  back,  and  his  companion  led  him  along,  until,  by  his 
directions,  tliey  were  seated  together  in  a  large  tub,  and  soon 
they  began  to  ascend  up,  until  at  last  Tom  found  himself  in  the 
firesh,  cool  air.  He  walked  a  long  way  with  his  conductor  hold- 
ing him  by  the  arm,  until  Ihey  entered  a  house,  where  he  was 
seated  and  told  to  remain  very  quiet  until  somebody  would  come 
and  set  him  free,  which  would  surely  be  in  a  short  time.  He 
complied  faithfully  with  the  injunction,  and  after  a  while  some 
person  entered,  asking  what  was  the  matter  with  him.  But  before 
he  could  answer  the  new-comer  unbound  his  hands,  and  took  off 
the  bandage,  when  Tom  found  himself  m  the  presence  of  a  stout, 
good-natured  looking  man,  who  eyed  him  curiously. 

Kearney  was  no  less  surprised  than  gratified  at  his  return  to 
daylight  again,  though  not  disposed  to  be  very  communicative 
with  the  stranger  about  his  escape  from  the  lower  regions — his 
train  of  ideas  was  sadly  confused,  and  he  had  too  much  to  think 
of  for  talking,  just  yet.  His  liberator  accompanied  him  to  the 
turnpike  road  leading  home.  Tom  was  very  thoughtful,  when 
his  conductor  hailed  a  passing  carman,  and  asked  him  to  give 
his  companion  "  a  lift  as  far  as  Barney  Muldoon's  at  the  cross." 


TOM    KKARNEY.  1 9! 

» 

"Indeed,  Bryan  Campbell,"  said  the  carman,  "I'm  only  too 
glad  to  serve  a  friend  of  yours." 

Tom  got  home  to  Barney's  house  about  night-fall,  a  sadder 
and  perhaps  a  wiser  man  than  when  he  left  it.  Bryan  Campbell 
conceived  quite  a  regard  for  him  after  that  time,  and  always  said, 
•'Kearney  was  a  man — every  inch  of  him — and  never  passed  the 
way  without  calling  in." 

I  forgot  to  state  that  Barney  Muldoon's  daughter,  Mary,  was 
the  belle  of  the  parish,  and  in  less  than  a  year  from  that  time  Tom 
Kearney  led  her  to  the  altar,  and  Br}'an  Campbell  was  at  the 
wedding. 

These  incidents  occurred  before  Father  Mathew's  time,  but 
Tom  took  good  care  ever  after  not  to  risk  another  descent  into  the 
lower  regions.  He  became  a  sober,  good  husband,  and  in  time 
the  father  of  a  fine  family  of  handsome  girls  and  stout  boys. 


192  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 


PADDY    CORBETT'S   FIRST   SMUGGLING 
TRIP. 


On  a  foggy  evening  in  the  November  of  a  year  of  which  Irish 
tradition,  not  lieing  critically  learned  in  chronology,  has  not  fur- 
nished the  date,  two  men  pursued  their  way  along  a  bridle  road  that 
led  through  a  wild  mountain  tract  in  a  remote  and  far  westward 
district  of  Kerry.  The  scene  was  savage  and  lonely.  Far  be- 
fore them  extended  the  broad  Atlantic,  upon  whose  wild  and 
heaving  bosom  the  lowering  clouds  seemed  to  settle  in  fitful  re- 
pose. Round  and  beyond  on  the  dark  and  barren  heath,  rose 
picturesque  masses  of  rock — the  finger-stones  which  Nature,  it 
would  seem,  in  some  wayward  frolic,  had  tossed  into  pinnacled 
heaps  of  strange  and  multiform  construction.  About  their  base, 
and  in  the  deep  interstices  of  l!ieir  sides,  grew  the  holly  and  the 
hiiivTy  mountain  ash,  and  on  their  topmost  peaks  frisked  the  agile 
goat  in  all  the  j^ride  of  unfettered  liberty. 

Tliese  men,  each  of  whom  led  a  Kerry  pony  that  bore  an 
empty  sack  along  the  difficult  pathway,  were  as  dissimilar  in  form 
and  appearance  as  any  two  of  Adam's  descendants  possibly  could 
be.  One  was  a  low-sized,  thick-set  man;  his  broad  shoulders  and 
muscular  limbs  gave  indication  of  considerable  strength;  but  the 
mild  expression  of  his  large  blue  eyes  and  broad,  good-humored 
countenance,  told,  as  plain  as  the  human  face  divine  could,  that 
the  fierce  aiid  stormy  passions  of  our  kind  never  exerted  the 
strength  of  that  muscular  arm  in  deeds  of  violence.  A  jacket 
and  trousei-s  of  brown  frieze,  and  a  broad-brimmed  hat  made  of 
that  particular  grass  named  thraneen,  completed  his  dress.     It 


PADDY   CORBETTS    FIRST    SMUGGLING    TRIP,  I93 

would  be  difficult  to  conceive  a  more  strange  or  anseemly  figure 
than  the  other:  he  exceeded  in  height  the  usual  size  of  men;  but 
his  limbs,  which  hung  loosely  together,  and  seemed  to  accompa- 
ny his  emaciated  body  with  evident  reluctance,  were  literally 
nothing  but  skin  and  bone ;  his  long  conical  head  was  thinly 
strewn  with  rusty-colored  hair  that  waved  in  the  evening  breeze 
about  a  haggard  face  of  greasy,  sallow  hue,  where  the  rheumy, 
sunken  eye,  the  highly  prominent  nose,  the  thin  and  livid  lip, 
half  disclosing  a  few  rotten  straggling  teeth,  significantly  seemed 
to  tell  how  disease  and  misery  can  attenuate  tlie  human  frame. 
He  moved,  a  living  skeleton:  yet,  strange  to  say,  the  smart  nag 
which  he  led  was  hardly  able  to  keep  pace  with  the  swinging  im- 
equal  stride  of  the  gaunt  pedestrian,  though  his  limbs  were  so 
fleshless  that  his  clothes  flapped  and  fluttered  around  him  as  he 
stalked  along  the  chilly  moor. 

As  the  travellers  proceeded,  the  road,  which  had  lately  been 
pent  within  tlie  huge  masses  of  granite,  now  expanded  sufficiently 
to  allow  them  a  little  side-by-side  discourse;  and  the  first-men- 
tioned person  pushed  forward  to  renew  a  conversation  which 
seemed  to  have  been  interrupted  by  the  inequalities  of  the  narrow 
pathway. 

"Ail'  so  ye  war  saying,  Shane  Glas,"  he  said,  advancing  in  a 
straight  line  with  his  spectre-looking  companion,  "  ye  war  saying 
that  face  of  yours  would  be  the  means  of  keeping  the  ganger 
from  our  taste  of  ti baccy." 

•'  The  ganger  will  never  squint  at  a  lafe  of  it, ' '  says  Shane  Glas, 
"if  I'm  in  yer  road.  There  was  never  a  cloud  over  Tun  Casey 
for  the  twelve  months  I  thra veiled  with  him;  and  if  the  foolish 
man  had  had  me  the  day  his  taste  o'  brandy  was  taken,  he'd 
have  the  fat  boiling  over  his  pot  to-day,  'tisn't  that  I  say  it  my- 
self:" 

"  The  sorrow  from  me,  Shane  Glas,"  returned  l:is  friend  with 
a  hearty  laugh,  and  a  roguish  glance  of  his  funny  eye  at  the 
angular  and  sallow  countenance  of  the  other,  "the  sorrow  be 
from  me  if  it's  much  of  Tim's /a/  came  in  your  way,  at  any 
rate,  though  I  don't  say  as  much  for  the ^aise." 


194  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

•'It's  laughing  at  the  cracked  side  o'  yer  mouth  ye'd  be,  I'm 
thinking,  Paddy  Corbett,"  said  Shane  Glas,  "  if  the  thief  of  a 
ganger  smelt  your  taste  o'  tibaccy  and  I  not  there  to  to  fricken 
him  off,  as  I  often  done  afore." 

"But  couldn't  we  take  our  lafe  o'  tibaccy  on  our  ponies' 
backs  in  panniers,  and  throw  a  few  hake  or  some  oysters  over 'em, 
and  let  on  that  we're  fish-joulting  ?" 

"  Now,  mark  my  words,  Paddy  Corbett:  there's  a  chap  in 
Killamey  as  knowledgeable  as  a  jailer;  Ould  Nick  wouldn't  bate 
him  in  roguery.  So  put  your  goods  in  the  thrackle,  shake  a 
wisp  over  'em,  lay  me  down  over  that  in  the  fould  o'  the  quilt, 
and  say  that  I  came  from  Decie's  counthry  to  pay  a  round  at 
Tubber-na-Treenoda,  and  that  I  caught  a  faver,  and  that  ye're 
taking  me  home  to  die,  for  the  love  o'  God  and  yer  mother's 
sowl.  Say  that  Father  Darby,  who  prepared  me,  said  that  I  had 
the  worst  spotted  faver  that  kem  to  the  counthry  these  seven 
years.     If  that  doesn't  fricken  him  off,  ye're  sowld  "  (betrayed.) 

By  this  time  they  had  reached  a  deep  ravine,  through  which  a 
narrow  stream  pu'sued  its  murmuring  course.  Here  they  left  the 
horses,  and,  furnished  with  the  empty  sacks,  pursued  their  onward 
route  till  they  reached  a  steep  cliff.  Far  below  in  the  dark  and 
undefined  space  sounded  the  hollow  roar  of  the  heaving  ocean, 
as  its  billowy  volume  broke  upon  its  granite  barrier,  and  formed 
along  the  dark  outline  a  zone  of  foam,  beneath  whose  snowy 
crest  the  ever-impelled  and  ai\gry  wave  yielded  its  last  strength 
in  myriad  flashes  of  phosphoric  light,  that  sparkled  and  danced 
in  arrowy  splendor  to  the  wild  and  sullen  music  of  the  dashing 
sea. 

"Paddy  Corbett,  avick,"  said  Shane  Glas,  "pull  yer  legs 
fair  an'  aisy  aflher  ye;  one  inch  iv  a  mistake,  achorra,  might 
sind  ye  a  long  step  of  two  hundred  feet  to  furnish  a  could  supper 
for  tlie  sharks.  Tlie  sorrow  a  many  would  vinture  down  here, 
avournccn,  barring  the  red  fox  of  the  hill  and  the  honest  smug- 
gler; they  are  both  poor  persecuted  crathurs,  but  God  has  given 
\.\\Qm.g!impshii>t  to  find  a  place  of  shelter  for  the  fruits  of  their 
honest  industry." 


'   PADDY  CORBETTS   FIRST   SMUGGLING   TRIP.         1 95 

Shane  Glas  was  quite  correct  in  his  estimate  of  the  height  of 
this  fearful  cliff.  It  overhung  the  deep  Atlantic,  and  the  narrow 
pathway  wound  its  sinuous  way  round  beneath  so  many  frightful 
precipices,  that  had  the  unpractised  feet  of  Paddy  Corbett 
tlireaded  the  mazy  declivity  in  the  clear  light  of  day,  he  would 
in  all  prolKiblhty  have  performed  the  saltation,  and  furnished  the 
banquet  of  which  Shane  Glas  gave  him  a  passing  hint.  But  ig- 
norance of  his  fearful  situation  saved  his  life.  His  companion,  in 
addition  to  his  Imowledge  of  this  secret  route,  had  a  limbemess 
of  miiscle,  and  a  pliancy  of  uncouth  motion,  that  enabled  him  to 
pursue  every  winding  of  the  awful  slope  with  all  the  activity  of  a 
weazel.  In  their  descent,  the  wild  sea-fowl,  roused  by  the  un- 
usual approach  of  living  things  from  their  couch  of  repose,  swept 
past  oa  sounding  wing  into  the  void  and  dreary  space  abroad, 
uttering  discordant  cries,  which  roused  the  more  distant  slumber- 
ers  of  the  rocks.  As  they  farther  descended  round  the  foot  of 
the  cliff,  where  the  projecting  crags  formed  the  sides  of  a  little 
cove,  a  voice,  harsh  and  threatening,  demanded  "who  goes 
there  ?"  The  echo  of  the  questioner's  interrogation,  reverberating 
along  the  receding  wall  of  rocks,  would  seem  to  a  fanciful  ear 
the  challenge  of  the  guardian  spirit  of  the  coast  pursuing  his 
nightly  round.  The  wild  words  blended  in  horrid  unison  thxtjugh 
the  mid-air  wilh  the  sigh  of  waving  wings  and  discordant 
screams,  which  the  echoes  of  the  cliffs  multiplied  a  thousand  fold, 
as  though  all  the  demons  of  the  viewless  world  had  chosen  that 
hour  and  place  of  iDneliness  to  give  their  baneful  pinions  and 
shrieks  of  terror  to  the  wind, 

'•\Vho  goes  there  ?"  again  demanded  this  strange  warder  of 
the  savage  scene;  and  again  the  scream  of  the  sea-bird  and  the 
echo  of  human  tones  sounded  wildly  along  the  sea. 

-'A  friend,  avick  machree,"  replied  Shane  Glas.  "Paudh, 
achorm,  v;hat  beautiful  lungs  you  have  !  But  keep  your  voice  a 
tiirifle  lower,  ma  bouchal,  or  the  water-guards  might  be  after 
staling  a  maich  on  ye,  shaip  as  ye  are." 

"  Shane  Glas,  ye  slinging  thief,"  rejoined  the  other,  "is  that 
yerself?     Honest  man,"  addressing  the  new  comer,  "  take  care 


196  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

of  fliat  talk-faced  schamer.  My  hand  for  ye,  Shane  will  see 
his  own  funeral  yet,  for  there  is  not  another  crathur,  barring  a 
fox,  could  creep  down  the  cliff  till  the  moon  rises,  anyhow.  But 
I  know  what  saved  yer  bacon;  he  that's  born  to  lye  hanged — you 
can  rcpate  the  rest  o*  the  Ihrue  ould  saying  yerself,  ye  poor 
atomy!" 

"  Wlu5t,"-said  Shane  Glas,  rather  chafed  by  the  severe  raillery 
of  the  other,  "  is  it  because  ye  shoulder  an  ould  gun  that  an 
honest  man  can't  tell  what  a  Judy  ye  make  o'  yerself,  swaggering 
like  a  raw  Peeler,  and  frightening  every  shag  on  the  cliii  with 
yer  foolish  bull-scuttering !  Make  way  there,  or  I'll  slick  that 
ould  barrel  in  yez — make  way  there,  ye  spalpeen  ! ' ' 

"Away  to  yer  masther  with  ye,  ye  miserable  disciple,"  re- 
turned the  unsparing  jiber.  "  Arrah,  by  the  hole  o'  my  coat, 
afther  you  have  danced  yer  last  jig  upon  notliing,  with  yer  purty 
himp  cravat  on,  I'll  coax  yer  miserable  carcass  from  the  hangman 
to  frighten  the  crows  with." 

When  the  emaciated  man  and  his  companion  had  proceeded  a 
few  paces  along  the  narrow  ledge  that  lay  between  the  steep  cliff 
and  the  sea,  they  entered  a  huge  excavation  m  the  rock,  which 
seemed  to  have  been  formed  by  volcanic  agency,  when  the  infant 
world  heaved  in  some  dire  convulsion  of  its  distempered  bowels. 
The  footway  of  the  subterranean  vault  was  strewn  with  the 
finest  sand,  which,  hardened  by  frequent  pressure,  sent  the  tramp 
of  the  intruder's  feet  reverberating  along  the  gloomy  vacancy. 
On  before  gleamed  a  strong  light,  which,  piercing  the  surround- 
ing darkness,  partially  revealed  the  sides  of  the  cavern,  \\hile  the 
far  space  beneath  the  lofty  roof,  impervious  to  the  powerful  ray, 
extended  dark  and  undefined.  Then  came  the  sound  of  human 
voices  mixed  in  uproarious  confusion;  and,  anon,  within  a  reced- 
ing angle,  a  strange  scene  burst  upon  their  view. 

Before  a  huge  fire  which  lighted  all  the  deep  recess  of  the 
high  over-arching  rock  that  rose  sublime  as  the  lofty  roof  of  a 
Gothic  cathedral,  sat  five  wild-looking  men  of  strange  semi- 
nautical  raiment.  Between  them  extended  a  large  sea-chest,  on 
wliich  stood  an  earthen  flagon,  from  which  one,  who  seemed 


PADDY   CORBETTS   FIRST   SMUGGLING   TRIP.         1 97 

the  president  of  the  revel,  poured  sparkling  brandy  into  a  single 
glass  that  circled  in  quick  succession,  while  the  jest  and  laugh 
and  song  swelled  in  mingled  confusion,  till  the  dinsome  cavern 
rang  again  to  the  roar  of  the  subterranean  bacchanals, 

"  God  save  all  here  !"  said  Shane  Glas,  approaching  the  fes- 
tive group.  "Oh,  wisha  !  Misther  Cronin,  but  you  and  the  boys 
is  up  to  fun.  How  goes  the  Colleen  Ayrigh,  and  her  Bochal 
Fadda,  that  knows  how  to  bark  so  purty  at  thim  plundering 
thieves,  the  wather-guards  ?" 

"Ah!  welcome,  Shane,"  replied  the  person  addressed;  "the 
custctmer  you've  brought  may  be  depinded  on,  I  hope.  Sit  down, 
boys." 

" 'Tis  ourselves  that  will,  and  welkim,"  rejoined  Shane. 
*'  Depinded  on  !  why,  'scure  to  the  dacenther  father's  son  from 
this  to  himself  than  Paddy  Corbett,  'tisn't  that  he's  to  the  fore." 

"  Come,  taste  our  brandy,  lads,  while  I  help  you  to  some 
ham,"  said  the  smuggler.  "Shane,  you  have  the  stomach  of  a 
shark,  and  the  digestion  of  an  ostrich." 

"  Be  gar  ye  may  say  that  wid  yer  own  i>urty  mouth,  Misther 
Cronin,"  responded  the  garrulous  Shane,  "Here,  gintlemin, 
here  is  free  thrade  to  honest  min,  an'  high  hangin'  to  all  in- 
formers !  Oh  !  murdher  maura  (smacking  his  lips),  how  it  tastes ! 
Oh,  avirra  yealish  (laying  his  bony  hand  across  his  shrunken 
paunch),  how  it  hates  the  stummuch  1" 

"  You  are  welcome  to  our  masion,  Paddy  Corbett,"  interrupt- 
ed the  hospitable  master  of  the  cavern;  "  the  house  is  covered  in, 
the  rent  paid,  and  the  craiskeen  of  brandy  unadulterated;  so  eat, 
drink,  and  be  merry.  When  the  moon  rises,  we  can  proceed  to 
business." 

Paddy  Corbett  was  about  to  return  thanks  when  the  intermin- 
able Shane  Glas  again  broke  in. 

"  I  never  saw  a  man,  beggin'  yer  pardon,  Misther  Cronin,  lade 
a  finer  or  rolickinger  life  than  your  own  four  bones — drinking  an' 
coorting  on  land,  and  spreading  the  canvass  of  the  Coolleen 
Ayrigh  over  the  salt  say,  for  the  good  o'  thrade.  If  I  had  Trig 
Dowl  the  piper  fominst  me  there,  near  the  cruiskeen,  but  I'd 


198  THE  20Z1MUS   PAPERS. 

drink  an'  dance  till  morning.  But  here's  God  bless  us,  an*  SUC' 
cess  to  our  thrip,  Paddy,  avrahir;"  and  he  drained  his  glass. 
Then  when  many  a  successive  round  went  past,  he  called  out  at 
the  top  of  his  voice,  "  Silence  for  a  song,"  a,nd  in  a  tone  some- 
what between  the  squeak  of  a  pig  and  the  drone  of  a  bagpipe, 
poured  forth  a  comaUye. 

Early  on  a  clear  sunny  morning  after  this,  a  roan  with  a  hoi-se 
and  truckle  car  was  observed  to  enter  the  town  of  Killarney  from 
the  west.  He  trolled  forth  before  the  animal,  which,  checked  by 
some  instinctive  dread,  with  much  reluctance  allowed  himself  to 
be  dragged  along  at  the  full  length  of  his  hair  halter.  On  the 
rude  vehicle  was  laid  what  seemed  a  quantity  of  straw,  upon 
which  was  extended  a  human  being,  whose  greatly  attenuated 
frame  appeared  fully  developed  beneath  an  old  flannel  quilt.  His 
face,  that  appeared  above  its  tattered  hem,  looked  the  embodi- 
ment of  disease  and  famine,  which  seemed  to  have  gnawed,  in 
horrid  union,  into  his  inmost  vitals.  His  distorted  features  por- 
trayed rending  agony;  and  as  the  rude  vehicle  jolted  along  the 
rugged  pavement,  he  groaned  hideously.  This  miserable  man 
was  our  acquaintance  Shane  Glas,  and  he  that  led  the  strange 
procession  no  other  than  Paddy  Corbett,  who  thus  experimented 
to  smuggle  his  "  taste  o'  tibaccy,"  which  lay  concealed  in  well- 
packed  bales  beneath  tlie  sick  couch  of  the  wretched  simulator. 

As  they  proceeded  along,  Shane  Glas  uttered  a  groan,  convey- 
ing such  a  feeling  of  real  agony  that  his  startled  companion,  sup- 
posing that  he  had  in  verity  received  the  sudden  judgment  of  his 
deception,  rushed  back  to  ascertain  whether  he  had  not  been  sud- 
denly stricken  to  death. 

"Paddy,  a  chorra-na-nea,"  he  muttered  in  an  undergrowl, 
"there's  the  vagabone  thief  of  a  gauger  down  sthreet !  Exert  yer- 
self,  a-lea,  to  baffle  the  schamer,  an'  don't  forget  'tis  the  spotted 
faver  I  have." 

Sure  enough,  the  gauger  did  come;  and  noticing,  as  he  passed 
along,  the  confusion  and  averted  features  of  Paddy  Corbett,  ho 
immediately  drew  up. 


PADDY   CORBETTS   FIRST   SiMUGGLING   TRIP.  1 99 

•'  WTiere  do  you  live,  honest  man,  an'  how  far  might  you  be 
goin'  ?"  said  the  keen  exciseman. 

"O,  wisha  !  may  the  lieavens  be  yer  honor's  bed  !— ye  must 
be  one  o'  the  gcxid  ould  stock,  to  ax  afther  the  consams  of  a  poor 
angishore  like  me:  hut,  a  yinusal-achree,  'tisn't  where  I  live  is 
worse  to  rae,  but  where  that  donan  in  the  thruckle  will  die  with 
me." 

*'  But  how  far  are  you  taking  him  ?" 

"  O,  'tis  myself  would  offer  a  prayer  on  my  two  binded  knees 
for  yer  honor's  soul,  if  yer  honor  would  tell  me  that.  I  forgot 
to  ax  the  craythur  where  he  should  be  berrid  when  we  kim  away, 
an'  now  he's  speechless  out  an'  out." 

"Come,  say  where  is  your  residence,"  said  the  other,  whose 
suspicion  was  increased  by  the  countryman's  prevarication. 

"By  jamuie,  yer  honor's  larnin'  bothers  me  intirely,  but  if  yer 
honor  manes  where  the  woman  that  owns  me  and  the  childre  is, 
'tis  that  way,  west  at  Tubber-na-Treenoda ;  yer  honor  has  heard 
tell  o'  Tubber-na-Treenoda,  bycoorse?" 

"Never,  indeed." 

"  O,  wisha  !  don't  let  yer  honor  be  a  day  longer  that  way.  If 
the  sickness,  God  betune  us  an'  harum,  kim  an  ye,  'twould  be 
betther  for  yer  honor  give  a  testher  to  the  durhogh  there,  to  offer 
up  a  rosary  for  ye,  than  to  slull  out  three  pounds  to  Doctor 
Crump." 

"  Perhaps  you  have  some  soft  goods  concealed  under  the  sick 
man,"  said  the  ganger,  approaching  the  car.  "I  frequently 
find  smuggled  wares  in  such  situations." 

"  Sorra  a  taste  good  or  soft  under  him,  sir  dear,  but  the  could 
sop  from  the  top  o'  the  stack.  Ketch  !  why,  not  a  haporlh  ye'U 
ketch  here  but  the  spotted  faver." 

"Fever!"  repeated  tlie  startled  exciseman,  retiring  a  step  or 
two. 

"  Yes,  faver,  yer  honor;  what  else  ?  Didn't  Father  Darby  that 
prepared  him,  say  that  he  had  spotted  faver  enough  for  a  thous- 
smd  min !  Do,  yer  honor,  come  look  in  his  face,  an'  thin  throw 
the  poor  dying  craythur,  that   kem   all  the  way  from  Decie's 


200  THE   ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

coonthry,  by  raisin'  of  a  dhream,  to  pay  around  for  his  wife's 
sowl  at  Tubber-na-Treenoda:  yes,  throw  him  out  an  the  road  an' 
let  his  blood,  the  blood  o'  the  stranrjer,  be  on  yer  soul  an'  his 
faver  in  ycr  body." 

Paddy  Corbett's  eloquence  operating  on  the  exciseman's  dread 
of  contagion,  saved  tlie  tobacco. 

Our  adventurers  considering  it  rather  dangerous  to  seek  a  buy- 
er in  Killarney,  directed  their  course  eastv/ard  to  Kanturk.  The 
hour  of  evcnyig  was  rather  advanced  as  they  entered  the  town; 
and  Shane,  who  could  spell  his  way  without  much  difficulty 
through  the  letters  of  a  sign-board,  seeing  "  entertainment  for  man 
and  horse  "  over  the  door,  said  they  would  put  up  there  for  the 
night,  and  then  directed  Paddy  to  the  shop  of  the  only  tobacco- 
nist in  town,  whither  for  some  private  motive  he  declined  to  at- 
tend him.  Mr.  Pigtail  was  after  dispatching  a  batch  of  customers 
when  Paddy  entered,  who,  seeing  the  coast  clear,  gave  him  the 
"  God  save  all  here,"  which  is  the  usual  phrase  of  greeting  in  the 
kingdom  of  Kerry.  Mr.  Pigtail  was  startled  at  the  rude  saluta- 
tion, which,  though  a  beautiful  benediction,  and  characteristic  of 
a  highly  religious  people,  is  yet  too  uncouth  for  modem  "ears 
polite,"  and  has,  excepting  among  the  lowest  class  of  peasants, 
entirely  given  way  to  that  very  sincere  and  expressive  phrase  of 
address,  "your  servant." 

Now,  Mr.  Pigtail,  who  meted  out  the  length  of  his  replies  in 
exact  proportion  to  the  several  ranks  and  degrees  of  his  querists, 
upon  hearing  the  vulgar  voice  that  uttered  the  more  vulgar  salute 
hesitated  to  deign  the  slightest  notice,  but,  measuring  with  a 
glance  the  outward  man  of  the  saluter,  he  gave  a  slight  nod  of 
acknowledgment,  and  the  dissyllabic  response  "servant;''  but 
scehig  Paddy  Corbctt  with  gaping  mouth  about  to  open  his  em- 
bassy, and  that,  like  Burns's  Death, 

"  He  seemed  to  make  a  kind  o'  Stan', 
But  nacthiiig  spak," 

he  immediately  added,  "  Honest  man,  you  came  from  the  west,  I 

believe  ?" 

"Thrue  enough  for  yer  honor,"  said  Pat;  "my  next  door 


PADDY   CORBETTS    FIRST    SMUGGLING    TRIP.  20I 

neighbors  at  that  side  are  the  wild  Ingins  of  Immeriky.  A  wet 
and  could  foot  an'  a  dry  heart  I  had  coming  to  ye;  but  welkim 
be  the  gifts  o'  God,  sure  poor  people  should  make  out  an  honest 
bit  an' sup  for  the  weeny  crathurs  at  home;  an'  I  have  thirteen 
o'  thim,  all  thackeens." 

"And  I  dare  say  you  have  brought  a  trifle  in  my  line  of  busi- 
ness in  your  road  ?" 

"Faith,  'tis  yerself  may  book  it;  I  have  the  natest  lafe  o' 
tibaccy  that  ever  left  Connor  Cro-ab-a-bo.  I  was  going  to  skin 
an  the  honest  man— Lord  betune  us  and  harum,  I'd  be  the  first 
informer  of  my  name,  anyhow.  But,  talking  o'  the  tibaccy,  the 
man  that  giv  it  said  a  sweeter  taste  never  left  the  hould  of  his 
ship,  and  that's  a  great  word.  I'll  give  it  dog  chape,  by  raison 
o'  the  long  road  it  thravelled  to  your  honor." 

"  You  don't  seem  to  be  long  in  this  business,"  said  Mr.  Pigtail. 
"Thrueforyou  there  agin,  a-yinusal;  'tis  yourself  may  say 
so." 

Now  Mr.  Pigtail  supposed  from  the  man's  seeming  simplicity, 
and  his  inexperience  in  running  smuggled  goods,  that  he  should 
drive  a  very  profitable  adventure  with  him.  He  ordered  him  to 
bring  the  goods  privately  to  the  back  way  that  led  to  his  premi- 
ses; and  Paddy,  who  had  the  fear  of  the  gauger  vividly  before 
him,  lost  no  time  in  obeying  the  mandate.  But  when  Mr.  Pigtail 
examined  the  several  packages,  he  turns  round  upon  poor  Paddy 
with  a  look  of  disapprobation,  and  exclaims,  "This  article  will 
not  suit,  good  man — entirely  damaged  by  sea  water — never  do." 
"  .Stv  wather,  anagh  !"  returns  Paddy  Corbett;  "bad  luck  to 
the  dhrop  o'  water,  salt  or  fresh,  did  my  taste  o'  tibaccy  ever  sec. 
The  Colleen  Ayrigh  that  brought  it  could  dip  an'  skim  along  the 
waves  like  a  sea-gull.  There  are  two  things  she  never  yet  let  in, 
Mr.  Pigtail,  avourneen — wather  nor  wather  guards ;  the  one  ships 
oft  her,  all  as  one  as  a  duck ;  and  the  Boochal  Fadda  on  her  deck 
keeps  t'other  a  good  mile  off,  more  spunk  to  him."  This  piece 
of  nautical  information  Paddy  had  ventured  from  gleanings  col- 
lected from  the  rich  stores  w  hich  the  conversation  of  Shane  Glas 
presented  along  the  road  and  in  the  smugglers'  cave. 


202  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

•'But,  my  good  man,  you  cannot  instruct  me  in  the  way  of  my 
business.  Take  it  away — no  man  in  the  trade  would  venture  an 
article  like  it.  But  I  shall  make  a  sacrifice,  rather  than  let  a  poor 
ignorant  man  fall  into  the  hands  of  the  gauger.  I  shall  give  you 
five  pounds  for  the  lot." 

Paddy  Corbett,  who  had  been  buoyed  up  by  the  hope  of  making 
two  hundred  per  cent,  of  his  lading,  now  seeing  all  his  gainful 
views  vanish  into  thin  air,  was  loud  and  impassioned  in  the  ex- 
pression of  his  disappointment.  "Oh,  Jillian  Dawly  !"  he 
cried,  swinging  himself  to  and  fro,  "Jillian,  aroon  manima, 
what'U  ye  say  to  yer  man,  afther  throwing  out  of  his  hand  the 
half  year's  rint  tlmt  he  had  to  give  theagint?  Oh,  what'll  ye 
say,  aveen,  but  that  I  med  a  purty  padder-napeka  of  myself,  lis- 
tening to  Shane  Glas,  the  yellow  schamer;  or  what'll  Sheelabcg, 
the  crathur,  say,  whin  Tim  Murphy  won't  take  her  without  the 
cows  that  I  won't  have  to  give  her  ?  Oh,  Misther  Pigtail,  avour- 
neen,  be  marciful  to  an  honest  father's  son;  don't  take  me  short, 
avoumeen,  an'  that  God  might  take  you  short.  Give  me  the  tin 
pounds  it  cost  me,  an'  I'll  pray  for  yer  sowl,  both  now  an'  in  the 
world  to  come.  Oh,  Jillian,  Jillian,  I'll  never  face  yc,  nor  Shec- 
labeg,  nor  any  o'  the  crathur's  agin,  without  the  tin  pound,  any- 
how." 

"Well,  if  you  don't  give  the  tobacco  to  me  for  less  than  that, 
you  can  call  on  one  Mr.  Pry  well,  at  the  other  side  of  the  bridge; 
he  deals  in  such  articles,  too.  You  see  I  cannot  do  more  for  you, 
but  you  may  go  farther  and  fare  worse,"  said  the  perfidious 
tobacconist,  as  he  directed  the  unfortunate  man  to  the  residence 
of  Mr.  Paul  Pry  well,  the  officer  of  excise. 

With  heavy  heart,  and  anxious  eye  peering  in  every  direction 
beneath  his  broad-leafed  hat,  Paddy  Corbett  proceeded  till  he 
reached  a  private  residence  having  a  green  door  and  a  brass 
knocker.  He  hesitated,  seeing  no  shop  nor  appearance  of  busi- 
ness there;  but,  on  being  assured  that  this  was  indeed  the  house 
of  Mr.  Paul  Prywell,  he  approached,  and  gave  the  door  three 
thundering  knocks  with  the  butt  end  of  his  holly-handled  whip. 
The  owner  of  the  domicile,  roused  by  this  very  unceremonious 


PADDY   CORBETTS   FIRST   SMUGGLING   TRIP.         203 

mode  of  announcement,  came  forth  to  demand  the  intruder's 
business,  and  to  wonder  that  he  would  not  prefer  giving  a  single 
rap  with  the  brass  knocker,  as  was  the  went  of  persons  in  his 
grade  of  society,  instead  of  sledging  away  at  the  door  like  a 
•'peep-o'»day  boy." 

"  Yer  honor  will  excuse  my  bouldness, "  said  Paddy,  taking 
off  his  hat,  and  scraping  the  mud  before  and  behind  him  a  full 
yard;  "excuse  my  bouldness,  for  I  never  seed  such  things  on  a 
duxe  afore,  an'  I  wouldn't  throuble  yer  honor's  house  at  all  at  all, 
only  in  regard  of  a  taste  of  goods  that  I  was  tould  would  shoot 
yer  honor.  Ye  can  have  it,  a-yinusal,  for  less  than  nothmg, 
'case  I  don't  find  myself  in  heart  to  push  on  farther;  for  the  baste 
is  slow,  the  crathur,  an'  myself  that's  saying  it,  making  buttons 
for  fear  o*  the  gauger." 

"Who,  might  I  ask,"  said  the  astonished  officer  of  excise, 
" directed  you  here  to  sell  smuggled  tobacco?" 

"  A  very  honest  gintleman,  but  a  bad  buyer,  over  the  bridge, 
sir.  He'd  give  but  five  pound  for  what  cost  myself  tin — foreer 
dhota,  that  \  had  ever  had  a  hand  in  it !  I  put  the  half  year's 
rint  in  it,  yer  honor;  and  my  thirteen  femul  grawls  an'  their 
mother,  God  help  'em,  will  be  soon  on  the  sachrawn.  I'll  never 
go  home  without  the  tin  pound,  anyhow.  High  hanging  to  ye, 
Shane  Glas,  ye  tallow-faced  thief,  that  sint  me  smuggling.  Oh, 
Jillian,  'lis  sogering  I'll  soon  be,  with  a  gun  an  my  shoulder !" 

"Shane  Glas!"  said  the  exciseman;  "do  you  know  Shane 
Glas?    I'd  give  ten  pounds  to  see  the  villain." 

"  'Tis  myself  does,  yer  honor,  an'  could  put  yer  finger  an  him, 
if  I  had  ye  at  Tubber-ha-Treenoda,  saving  yer  presence;  but  as  I 
was  setting  away,  he  was  lying  undher  an  old  quilt,  an'  I  heard 
him  telling  that  the  priest  said  he  had  spotted  fever  enough 
for  a  thousand  min. ' ' 

"  That  villain  will  never  die  of  spotted  fever,  in  my  humble 
opinion,"  said  the  exciseman.    ' 

"  A  good  judgment  in  yer  mouth,  sir,  achree.  I  heard  the 
rogue  himself  say,  '  Bad  cess  to  the  thief!  that  a  cup-tosser  tould 
him  he'd  die  of  stoppage  of  breath.*  But  won't  yer  honor  allow 
me  to  turn  in  the  lafe  o'  tibaccy  ?" 


204  THE    ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

The  officer  of  excise  was  struck  with  deep  indignation  at  the 
villainy  of  him  who  would  mi n  a  comparatively  innocent  man 
when  he  failed  in  circumventing  him,  and  was  resolved  to  pun- 
ish his  treachery.  "  My  good  fellow, "  said  he,  "you  are  now 
before  the  gauger  you  dread  so  much,  and  I  must  do  my  duty, 
and  seize  upon  tlie  tobacco.  However,  it  is  but  common  justice 
to  punish  the  false-hearted  traitor  tliat  sent  you  hither.  Go  back 
quickly,  and  say  that  he  can  have  the  lot  at  his  own  terms;  I 
shall  follow  close,  and  yield  him  the  reward  of  his  treachery. 
Act  discreetly  in  this  good  work  of  biting  the  biter,  and  on  the 
word  of  a  gentleman  I  shall  give  you  ten  pounds  more." 

Paddy  rapidly  retraced  his  steps,  ejaculating  as  he  went  along, 
"Oh,  the  noble  gintleman,  may  the  Lord  make  a  bed  in  Heaven 
for  his  sowl  in  glory  !  Oh,  that  chating  imposthor,  'twas  sind- 
ing  the  fox  to  mind  the  bins,  sure  enough.  Oh,  high  hanging  to 
him  of  a  windy  day  !  the  informer  o*  the  world,  I'll  make  him 
sup  sorrow." 

"Have  you  seen  the  gentleman  I  directed  you  to?"  said  Mr. 
Pigtail. 

"  Arrah,  sir,  dear,  whin  I  came  to  the  bridge  an'  looked  about 
me,  I  thought  that  every  roguish-looking  fellow  I  met  was  the 
thief  of  a  gauger,  an'  thin  afther  standing  a  while,  quite  am- 
plushed  with  the  botheration  and  the  dread  upon  me,  I  forgot 
yer  friend's  name,  an'  so  kim  back  agin  to  ax  it,  if  ye  plase." 

"You  had  better  take  the  five  pounds  than  venture  again; 
there's  a  gauger  in  town,  and  your  situation  is  somewhat  dan- 
gerous." 

"  A  gauger  in  town  !"  cried  Paddy  Corbett,  with  well-aflected 
surprise.  "What'll  I  do  at  all  at  all  ?  now  I'm  a  gone  man  all 
out.  Take  it  for  anything  ye  like,  sir,  dear,  an'  if  any  throuble 
like  this  should  ever  come  down  an  ye,  it  will  be  a  comfort  and 
a  raycreation  to  yer  heart  to  know  that  yc  had  a  poor  man's  bless. 
ing,  avick  dcclish  machree,  an'  I  give  it  to  ye  on  the  knees  of  my 
heart,  as  ye  desarved  it,  an'  that  it  may  go  in  yer  road,  an'  yer 
childre's  road,  late  an'  early,  eating  an'  dhrinking,  lying  an' 
rising,  buying  an'  selling." 


PADDY   CORBETTS   FIRST   SMUGGLING   TRIP.  20$ 

Our  story  has  approached  its  close :  the  tobacco  was  safely 
stowed  inside,  in  order  to  be  consigned  to  Mr.  Pigtail's  private 
receptacle  for  such  contraband  articles.  Paddy  had  just  pocket- 
ed his  five  pounds,  and  at  that  moment  in  burst  Mr.  Pry  well. 
The  execration  which  ever  after  pursued  the  tobacconist  for  his 
treacherous  conduct,  and  the  heavy  fine  in  which  he  was  amerced, 
so  wrought  upon  his  health  and  circumstances,  that  in  a  short 
time  he  died  in  extreme  poverty,  and  it  is  upon  record,  among  the 
brave  and  high-minded  men  of  Duhallow,  that  Jeffrey  Pigtail  of 
Kanturk  was  the  only  betrayer  that  ever  disgraced  the  barony. 


a06  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 


HANNABERRY  THE  PIPER. 


The  County  Wexford,  of  all  parts  of  Ireland,  is  peculiarly  rich 
in  legends,  traditions  and  fairy  tales.  In  former  days,  before  the 
advent  of  the  newspaper  press  and  the  national  schoolmaster, 
there  was  not  a  district,  town  or  village  within  its  borders  but 
boasted  of  its  story-teller,  who  was  generally  the  depository  of 
all  the  man'ellous  and  uncanny  events  that  had  taken  place  in 
the  neigi-borhood  for  ages  past.  But  in  these  days  of  railroads, 
telegraphs,  schools  and  cheap  literature,  the  long-honored  tribe 
of  story-tellers  is  disappearing,  even  in  the  County  of  Wexford. 
A  few  remain,  however,  to  this  day,  but  their  occupation  has 
fearfully  fallen  into  desuetude.  Some  of  them  may  still  be 
found  lingering  around  their  old  haunts  at  the  glowing  fire- 
sides of  comfortable  farmers,  but  many  of  them  were  swallowed 
up  in  tliat  great  stream  of  immigration  that  poor  old  Erin  has 
been  pouring  on  our  American  shores  for  the  last  half  century. 
Of  the  latter  was  Jimmy  Chili,  who,  though  he  bore  a  name  that 
savored  of  South  America,  was  as  true  a  Wexfordian  as  ever 
danced  a  ji^  in  New  Ross,  from  which  good  old  town  he  hailed. 
I  first  became  acquainted  with  Jimmy  when  he  was  a  "young- 
ster" in  tho  ancient  colony  of  Newfoundland.  Like  myself, 
he  was  then  employed  in  the  dangerous  but  profitable  occupation 
of  seal  hunting.  In  the  intervals  of  the  hunt,  and  in  the  long 
winter  nights,  seated  around  the  forecastle  fire,  he  often  beguiled 
the  tedium  of  the  s^low  passing  hours  with  story,  jest  and  song. 
Jimmy  was  a  firm  lielieverin  witchcraft,  ghosts,  fairies,  warnings, 
second  siglit,  and  all  the  mysteries  which  are  supposed  to  hedge 
in  die  supernatural  order.  Whether  he  believed  in  his  own  tales 
or  not  I  cannot  say ;  but  certain  he  always  delivered  himself  of 


HANNABERRY   THE    PIPER.  207 

them,  particnlarly  when  they  related  to  ghosts  and  fairiesj^fn 
such  a  solemn,  oracular  way,  as  to  carry  conviction  to  his  hearers 
among  the  simple  fishermen  and  seal  hunters  of  Newfoundland. 
I  well  remember  one  night,  after  having  made  everything  snug 
on  deck,  we  were  seated  at  the  forecastle  fire.  After  Jimmy  had 
drank  Ms  tea,  filled  his  pipe  and  smoked  it,  he  was  called  upon 
for  a  story. 

•'  Be  gob,  boys,"  said  he  in  response,  "I'll  tell  you  the  story 
of  Harinaberry  the  Piper  and  the  Marquis  of  Waterford.  Hanna- 
berry  was  the  greatest  piper  in  all  the  country  around  New  Ross. 
Divil  a  marriage,  christening,  fair  or  wake  widin'  miles  but  he 
would  be  at  wid  his  pipes,  and  thim  were  the  pipes,  don't  be 
talking." 

I  wlQ  not  attempt,  however,  to  give  the  story  verbatim  in 
Jimmy's  vernacular,  but  that  was  the  opening  sentence.  What 
follows  I  shall  relate  as  concisely  as  possible,  and  keeping  as  near 
the  original  text  as  I  can. 

"  One  night,"  Jimmy  went  on,  "  Hannaberry,  who  had  been 
to  the  fair  of  Taghmon,  which  is  situated  between  New  Ross  and 
Wexford  town,  was  returning  home,  with  his  pipes,  as  usual, 
under  his  arm.  He  had  passed  a  meiTy  day  of  it,  and,  as  a  con- 
sequence, felt  pretty  much  as  Tarn  O'Shanter,  of  Scottish  memory, 
felt  when  he  pronounced  himself  victorious  over  all  the  ills  of  life. 
Down  came  Hannaberry,  in  this  jolly  mood,  along  the  road  to 
New  Ross.  From  Taghmon  to  his  home  it  was  a  goodly  walk, 
and  after  the  fatigues  of  the  day  it  was  only  natural  that  he 
should  feel  a  trifle  tired.  When  he  came  to  the  old  lime-kiln, 
that  is  exactly  four  miles  from  Ross  bridge,  he  thought  hs  would 
rest  himself  and  have  a  pull  at  his  old  diidhccn;  'twould  refresh 
him  and  waken  up  his  faculties,  which  were,  in  ain.nnner,  l)ecom- 
ing  oblivious.  He  had  no  sooner  conceived  the  idea  than  he 
proceeded  to  carry  it  into  execution  by  seating  himself  on  the 
sloping  ground  that  led  to  the  top  of  the  lime-kiln,  lighting  his 
pipe  and  commencing  to  smoke.  Before  seating  himself  he  laid 
his  beloved  pipes  carefully  away  in  a  nook  of  the  kiln.  He  had 
not  smoked  long  before  a  dreamy,  drowsy,  undefinable  sensation 


208  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

Crept  over  him.  The  smoke  from  his  pipe  appeared  to  resolve 
itself  into  a  mysterious  halo  of  light,  which  gradually  began  to 
enshroud  him.  Suddenly  he  heard  the  most  delicious  strains  of 
music  proceeding  from  a  short  distance  behind  where  he  was 
seated.  Never  had  such  strains  been  produced  on  Irish  pipes  as 
Hannaberry  now  listened  to,  and  turning,  he  beheld  a  sight  which 
struck  him  with  awe  and  astonishment.  Coming  towards  him, 
with  the  pipes  under  his  arm,  was  a  little,  a  very  little,  old  man, 
nattily  dressed  in  green.  The  little  old  man  handled  the  pipes 
with  the  most  consummate  skill  and  grace,  and,  standing  before 
the  astonished  Hannaberry,  he  played  twelve  of  the  most  delight- 
ful and  patriotic  airs  in  a  style  the  most  lovely  and  bewitching. 
When  he  had  ceased  playing  he  laid  down  the  pipes,  and,  fixing 
a  pair  of  piercing  black  eyes  on  the  bewildered  piper,  addressed 
him  thus: 

"  'Why,  then,  Mick  Hannaberry,  it's  yourself  that's  a  brave 
man,  by  daring  to  sit  down  so  comfortably  in  a  fairy  rath.  I 
have  been  here  now  bordering  on  five  hundred  years,  and  you  are 
the  first  man  that  has  had  the  courage  to  cross  the  magic  ring 
and  rest  himself  in  my  domains.  And  now,  me  man,  let  me  tell 
you  that  you  have  conferred  a  favor  on  me  that  shall  not  go  unre- 
warded.' 

"When  the  little  old  man  in  green  had  stopped  speaking,  he 
lifted  the  pipes  from  the  ground,  and  placing  tliem  under  Hanna- 
berry's  arm,  he  ordered  the  now  fairly  bewildered  piper  to  strike 
up  a  tune.  Hannaberry  at  first  was  very  timid  and  bashful,  par- 
ticularly after  hearing  such  beautiful  music  from  the  fairy,  as  he 
now  fully  knew  him  to !:«.  He  pleaded  weariness  and  inability, 
but  the  little  old  man  with  a  cjuiet  dignity  awed,  while  at  the 
same  time  he  reassured,  the  piper  into  a  compliance  with  his  de- 
mand, and  Mick  Hannaberry  struck  up  a  jig  so  lively  and  soul- 
stirring,  that  the  performer  himself  was  completely  surprised  at 
the  delicacy  and  proficiency  with  which  he  handled  the  keys  of 
his  instrument.  Tune  after  tune,  to  the  number  of  twelve,  was  rat- 
tled off  on  the  pipes,  by  the  now  thoroughly  delighted  piper,  who 
already  began  to  congratulate  himself  on  the  great  advantage 


HANNABERRY    THE    PIPER.  2O9 

his  increased  proficiency  in  his  art  would  give  him  over  his  less 
fortunate  rivals,  who  had  never  stumbled  into  a  fairy  rath  to  be- 
come acquainted  with  its  occult  mysteries.  The  little  man  in 
green  eyed  the  piper  all  the  while  with  the  keenest  and  shrewdest 
glances,  apparently  reading  the  thoughts  that  were  uppermost  in 
his  mind. 

"  *  Be  aisy,  now,  Mick,'  said  he,  '  and  lay  down  the  pipes  till 
I  explain.  As  I  said  afore,  yours  is  the  first  mortyal  face  of  a 
piper  that  I  have  set  eyes  on  in  this  sacred  ring  for  five  himdred 
years. ' 

"  '  Be  gorra,  then,  that's  a  long  time,  your  honor,'  said  Mick 
in  reply,  looking  out  curiously  from  under  the  rim  of  his  old  hat 
at  the  little  old  man  in  green,  and  wondering  all  the  while  what 
was  coming  next. 

"  '  Yes,  five  hundred  weary  years  have  I  been  imprisoned  here, 
till  this  blessed  night,  when  some  good  chance  has  sent  you  to  my 
relief.  And  Mick,  me  man,  I'll  forever  bless  the  day  you  came 
to  relieve  me,  besides  assisting  you  to  make  your  fortune.' 

"  '  It's  thankful  I  am  to  your  honor,'  replied  Mick,  still  feeling 
not  quite  at  ease,  and  wishing  in  his  heart  that  he  was  safely  at 
home  with  the  old  woman  and  children. 

'"There  is  a  condition,  however, '  said  the  little  old  man  in 
green,  '  and,  unfortunately,  one  that  cannot  be  dispensed  with.  It 
is  inseparable  from  my  unfortunate  position,  and  in  many  respects 
will  counterbalance  the  great  benefit  conferred  upon  you.  When 
you  leave  here  to-night  your  fame  will  be  abroad  through  all  the 
country;  indeed,  it  will  not  be  confined  to  poor  old  Ireland,  but 
will  be  spread  throughout  the  whole  of  the  three  kingdoms. 
Your  sei"vices  will  be  in  great  request.  Your  pipes,  by  merely 
placing  them  on  a  table,  will  be  operated  upon  by  an  unseen 
agency,  and  the  most  delicious  music  will  be  produced;  but,'  and 
here  the  little  old  man's  face  assumed  a  grave  aspect,  '  every  time 
the  pipes  are  played  you  will  lose  a  near  relative  by  death.  This  is 
the  ineNdtable  condition,  which  you  must  either  accept  or  remain 
with  me  until  another  piper  comes  to  your  relief  and  mine.  Five 
hundred  years  ago,  when  in  the  flesh,  like  you,  I  was  a  piper.     I 


210  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

wasted  my  days  in  mirth,  joviality  and  song.  I  was  idle  and 
encouraged  idleness  in  others,  and  as  a  punishment  for  my 
thoughtless  conduct,  I  was  condemned  to  pass  ages  in  the  narrow 
confines  of  this  rath.  I  was  to  be  freed,  however,  when  a  man  of 
my  own  profession  would  voluntarily  come  within  the  magic 
circle  which  surrounds  my  limited  domains.  It  has  been  your 
fortune  to  be  the  man,  and  whether  that  fortune  is  to  be  good  or 
evil  for  you  your  future  conduct  will  tell.  Take  your  pipes,  you 
are  now  at  liberty  to  go;  but  do  not  forget  the  penalty  that  is 
attached  to  your  music,  and  remember,  also,  you  must  never  re- 
fuse a  reasonable  request  for  your  services  as  a  piper. ' 

"  The  halo  of  light  gradually  faded  away,  and  the  dazed  Hanna- 
berry  found  himself  cold,  benumbed  and  damp,  his  pipes  beside 
him,  and  still  seated  on  "the  side  of  the  little  mound  that  led  to 
the  top  of  the  lime  kilns.  He  rubbed  his  eyes  and  wondered  if  it 
was  not  all  a  dream,  and  if  he  had  not  taken  too  much  whisky, 
and  whether  the  little  old  man  in  green  and  the  music  was  not  a 
phantom  of  a  disordered  brain.  But  no,  it  must  have  been  a 
reality;  for  there,  sure  enough,  was  the  fairy  ring  all  around  him, 
and  no  true  Irish  piper  could  ever  doubt  the  evidence  of  his  senses, 
when  he  was  environed  by  so  palpable  a  fact  as  that. 

"With  many  misgivings  and  doubts  he  got  up  and  started  for 
his  home,  and  the  way  he  put  himself  over  the  ground  between 
the  old  lime  kiln  and  Ross  bridge  was  wonderful  to  behold. 
The  next  morning,  bright  and  early,  before  Hannaberry  was 
awake,  a  well-to-do  farmer  from  a  neighboring  district  was  after 
him  to  come  and  play  at  his  daughter's  wedding,  which  was 
about  to  take  place.  With  the  recollection  of  the  scenes  of  last 
night  still  fresh  in  his  mind,  the  poor  piper  faltered  and  hesitated 
for  some  time.  The  farmer  wondered  at  his  reluctance,  and  at 
his  mysterious  and  absent  manner.  Such  conduct  was  unusual 
in  Hannaberry,  and  the  farmer  thought  he  would  try  what 
effect  a  glass  or  two  would  have  upon  him.  In  Hannaberry's 
depressed  condition  the  whisky  worked  a  magic  charm.  After 
imbibing  he  at  once  recovered  his  assurance  and  old  spright- 
liness   and   promised   to  attend    the    wedding   of   the  farmer's 


HANNABERRY   THE    PIPER.  211 

daughter  on  the  following  night.  And  sure  enough,  when 
the  guests  assembled  at  the  fanner's  at  the  appointed  time,  there 
was  the  piper  with  his  pipes  promptly  on  hand.  When  he  made 
his  appearance  in  the  dancing-room,  he  placed  his  pipes  on  the 
table,  and  went  to  congratulate  the  new-married  pair.  In  the 
mean  time  the  lads  and  lasses  had  ranged  themselves  on  the  floor 
in  sets  for  the  dance,  and  the  word  went  around,  '  Strike  up  the 
music,  Hannaberry !'  No  sooner  had  the  request  been  made, 
than  the  pipes  on  the  table  commenced  to  play  the  most  beautifiil 
dancing  tunes  that  had  ever  been  heard  in  those  parts.  Hanna- 
berry was  as  much  astonished  at  first  as  any  of  the  company ;  but 
by  a  powerful  effort  of  the  will  he  controlled  his  emotions,  mut- 
tering only  to  himself,  '  Be  gorra,  I  am  an  enchanted  man,  sure- 
ly. '  The  dancers  turned  to  the  piper  for  an  explanation,  charg- 
ing him  with  witchcraft,  the  black  art,  and  all  other  kinds  of 
magic.  Determined  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  job,  and  now  per- 
fectly self-possessed,  Hannaberry  replied,  '  Be  aisy  now,  boys; 
Sure  it's  only  a  new  invention  of  me  own  in  the  the  musical  line. 
Sarrs^  a  thing  yez  need  do  but  dance,  and  I'll  furnish  the  music. 
Dance  away,  and  never  a  hair  of  yer  head  will  be  hurt.'  His 
coolness  reassured  them,  his  advice  was  good,  the  music  was  bet- 
ter, the  guests  in  good  humor,  and  so  on  the  light  fantastic  toe 
they  tripped  the  merry  hours  away  imtil  the  dawning  of  another 
day.  When  poor  Hannaberry  returned  home  in  the  morning,  a 
new  and  sad  revelation  broke  in  upon  him.  His  mother-in-law, 
stark  and  stiff,  lay  dead  in  the  house.  His  wife  informed  him 
that  about  midnight  the  family  Banshee  had  set  up  the  death-cry 
in  the  garden  behind  the  house;  that  shortly  after  her  mother 
was  taken  suddenly  faint,  and  gave  up  the  ghost  in  a  short  time, 
before  a  doctor  or  any  other  person  could  be  called  to  her  assist- 
ance. This  was  a  stunning  blow  to  the  piper.  Of  what  use  was 
the  great  gift  of  musical  proficiency,  if,  on  every  occasion  it  was 
exercised,  he  was  to  lose  a  near  and  dear  relative  ?  For,  strange 
as  it  may  appear,  he  really  loved  his  mother-in-law.  But  as  the 
little  old  man  in  green  had  predicted,  Hannaberr}''s  fame  spread 
over  ail  Ireland.     It  was  the  theme  of  conversation  in  all  circles. 


2  12  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

high  and  low.  At  last  it  came  to  the  ears  of  the  Marquis  of 
VVaterford,  who  was  at  that  time  the  leading  sporting  man  in 
all  Ireland.  The  marquis  was  well  known  as  the  greatest  bet- 
ting man  of  his  day,  and  on  a  certain  evening  after  dinner,  in 
conversation  with  his  guests,  English  and  Scotch  noblemen,  he 
boldly  asserted  that  Mick  liannaberry  was  the  greatest  piper 
in  all  the  three  kingdoms.  Of  course  no  patriotic  English  or 
Scotch  nobleman  could  admit  this.  The  marquis,  however, 
insisted  on  the  truth  of  his  assertion,  and  offered  to  back  it  up 
by  staking  the  whole  of  his  immense  estates  on  the  issue  of  a 
contestwith  the  pipes  between  Hannaberry  and  any  other  piper 
that  England  or  Scotland  could  produce.  His  challenge  was 
instantly  accepted  by  an  English  nobleman,  who  stipulated 
that  the  trial  of  skill  should  come  off  in  London,  before  the 
Court  and  all  the  nobility.  The  next  day  the  marquis  sought 
out  Hannaberry,  and  told  him  what  he  had  dune.  The  poor 
piper  had  not  yet  forgotten  the  mysterious  death  of  his  mo- 
ther-in-law, and  in  consequence  received  the  proposal  of  the 
marquis  to  go  to  London  to  play  rather  coolly.  '  Hanna- 
berry,' said  the  marquis,  '  the  best  farm  on  my  estate  shall  be 
given  to  you  and  yours  while  grass  grows  and  water  runs,  if 
you  come  with  me  to  London  ;  and  besides,  man,  isn't  my 
whole  estate  bet  upon  you,  and  for  the  honor  of  old  Ireland, 
surely,  you  would  not  see  me  deprived  of  my  estates  by  the 
bluff  of  any  Englishman  that  ever  lived  ? ' 

"  This  fervent  appeal  settled  the  question,  and  Harnaberry 
agreed  to  accompany  the  marquis  to  London  to  test  the  skill 
of  the  best  English  and  Scotch  pipers.  The  next  day  the 
marquis,  with  the  piper  and  a  large  retinue,  set  out  for  Lon- 
don, where  they  arrived  in  due  time.  The  scene  of  the  trial 
of  skill  was  to  be  in  the  palace  court-yard,  before  the  Queen 
and  all  the  highest  nobility  of  the  land.  When  the  great  day 
arrived,  pipers  from  England  and  Scotland,  including  the 
Duke  of  Argyle's  own  piper,  were  on  hand  to  contest  the  mar- 
quis' claim  for  the  championship  of  Hannaberry.  The  poor 
fellow  himself  felt  somewhat  abashed  when  he  stepped  into 
the  arena  with  his  pipes,  but  the  recollection  of  the  little  old 
man  in  green  cheered  him  up.     Seated  around  in  a  vast  am- 


HANNABERRY    THE    PIPER.  213 

phitheatre  was  the  Queen,  Prince  Albert,  the  Duke  of  Well- 
ington, and  all  the  other  great  nobles  of  the  land,  arrayed  in 
the  most  dazzling  uniforms  it  was  possible  to  imagine.  Out 
from  the  gaily-dressed  crowd  stepped  the  Marquis  of  Water- 
ford,  and  called  for  a  table.  It  was  brought  instantly,  and 
Hannaberry  placed  the  pipes  upon  it.  Moved  by  the  unseen 
agency  of  the  fairies,  the  pipes  struck  up  and  produced  the 
most  ravishing  music,  to  the  astonishment  and  delight  of  the 
vast  audience.  After  the  twelve  tunes  were  played  in  grand 
style,  the  marquis  stepped  out  and  said  :  '  Show  me  the  man 
in  England  or  Scotland  that  can  bate  that,' 

"  '  The  divil  a  man  in  England  or  Scotland  either,' said  the 
Duke  of  Wellington,  '  that  can  bate  that,  and  its  proud  I  am 
this  day — yis,  as  proud  as  I  was  the  day  I  bate^the  Frinch  at 
Waterloo — that  a  countryman  of  mine  can  take  the  shine  out 
of  the  whole  world  on  the  pipes.  Be  off  home  with  you  now, 
Hannaberr}',  and  good  luck  to  you  ;  and,  marquis,  mind  you 
treat  him  well. ' 

"  *Be  dad,  I'll  do  that  same,'  replied  the  marquis.  And 
he  did ;  for  on  their  return  to  Ireland  he  settled,  as  he  had 
promised,  the  finest  farm  on  his  estate  on  the  victorious  piper, 
whose  good  fortune  was  rather  dampened,  however,  when  he 
was  told  that  his  uncle  and  his  aunt,  too,  had  died  at  the  very 
time  the  shouts  of  victory  were  going  up  for  him  from  the 
aristocracy  in  London. 

"  He  never  played  the  pipes  after  that,  and,  for  all  I  know, 
he  still  lives  on  the  same  farm,"  said  Jimmy  Chili,  as  he  lit 
his  pipe  and  went  on  deck  to  take  his  trick  at  the  wheel. 


214  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 


THE  IRISH  FIDDLER. 


In  my  native  parish  there  were  four  or  five  fiddlers — all  good 
in  their  way  ;  but  the  Paganini  of  the  district  was  the  far-famed 
Mick#^  M'Rorey.  Where  Mickey  properly  lived  I  never  could 
actually  discover,  and  for  the  best  reason  in  the  world — he  was 
not  at  home  once  in  twelve  months.  As  Colley  Cibber  says  in 
the  play,  he  was  "a  kind  of  a  here-and-thereian — a  stranger 
nowhere."  This,  however,  mattered  little ;  for  though  per- 
petually shifting  day  after  day  from  place  to  place,  yet  it  some- 
how happened  that  nobody  ever  was  at  a  loss  where  to  find  him. 
The  truth  is,  he  never  felt  disposed  to  travel  incog.,  because  he 
knew  that  his  interest  must  sutler  by  doing  so  ;  the  consecjuence 
was,  that  wherever  he  went,  a  little  nucleus  of  local  fame  always 
attended  him,  which  rendered  it  an  easy  matter  to  find  his  where- 
abouts. 

Mickey  was  blind  from  his  infancy,  and,  as  usual,  owed  to 
the  small-pox  the  loss  of  his  eyesight.  He  was  about  the  middle 
aze,  of  rather  a  slender  make,  and  possessed  an  intelligent 
countenance,  on  which  beamed  that  singular  expression  of  in- 
ward serenity  so  peculiar  to  the  blind.  His  temper  was  sweet 
and  even,  but  capable  of  rising  through  the  buoyancy  of  his  own 
humor  to  a  high  pitch  of  exhilaration  and  enjoyment.  The 
dres3  he  wore,  as  far  as  I  can  remember,  was  always  the  same 
in  color  and  fabric — to  wit,  a  brown  coat,  a  sober-tinted  cotton 
waistcoat,  grey  stockings,  and  Ijlack  corduroys.  Poor  Mickey  ! 
I  think  1  see  him  before  me,  liis  head  erect,  as  the  heads  of  all 
blind  men  are,  the  fidJle-case  under  his  left  arm,  and  his  hazel 
staff  held  out  like  a  feeler,  explormg  with  experimental  pokes 
tlie  nature  of  the  ground  before  him,  even  although  some  happy 


THE    IRISH    FIDDLER.  215 

urchin  leads  him  onward  with  an  exulting  eye  ;  an  honor  which 
he  will  boast  to  his  companions  for  many  a  mortal  month  to 
come. 

The  first  time  I  ever  heard  Mickey  play  was  also  the  first  I 
ever  heard  a  fiddle.  Well  and  distinctly  do  I  remember  the 
occasion.  The  season  was  summer — but  summer  was  summer 
then — and  a  new  house  belonging  to  Frank  Thomas  had  been 
finished,  and  was  just  ready  to  receive  him  and  his  family.  The 
floors  of  Irish  houses  in  the  country  generally  consist  at  first  of 
wet  clay  ;  and  when  this  is  sufficiently  well  smoothed  and 
hardened,  a  dance  is  known  to  be  an  excellent  thing  to  bind  and 
prevent  them  from  cracking.  On  this  occasion  the  evening  had 
been  appointed,  and  the  day  was  nearly  half  advanced,  but  no 
appearance  of  the  fiddler.  The  state  of  excitement  in  which  I 
found  myself  could  not  be  described.  The  name  of  Mickey 
M'Rorey  had  been  ringing  in  my  ears  for  I  don't  know  how 
long,  but  I  had  never  seen  him,  or  even  heard  his  fiddle.  Every 
two  minutes  I  was  on  the  top  of  a  little  eminence  looking  out  for 
him,  my  eyes  straining  out  of  their  sockets,  and  my  head  dizzy 
with  the  prophetic  expectation  of  rapture  and  delight.  Human 
patience,  however,  could  bear  this  painful  suspense  no  longer, 
and  I  privately  resolved  to  find  Mickey  or  perish.  I  accordingly 
proceeded  across  the  hills,  a  distance  of  about  three  miles,  to  a 
place  called  Kilnahushogue,  where  I  found  him  waiting  for  a 
guide.  At  this  thne  I  could  not  have  been  more  than  seven 
years  of  age  ;  and  how  I  wrought  out  my  way  over  the  lonely 
hills,  or  through  what  mysterious  instinct  I  was  led  to  him,  and 
that  by  a  path,  too,  over  which  I  had  never  travelled  befots, 
must  be  left  unrcvcalcd,  until  it  shall  please  that  Power  which 
guides  the  bee  to  its  home,  and  the  bird  for  thousands  of  miles 
through  the  au",  to  disclose  the  principle  upon  which  it  is 
accomplished. 

On  our  return  home  I  could  see  the  young  persons  of  both 
sexes  flying  out  to  the  little  eminence  I  spoke  of,  looking  eagerly 
towards  the  point  we  travelled  from,  and  immediately  scampei- 
ing  in  again,  clapping  their  hands,  and  shouting  with  delight. 


2l6  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

Instantly  the  whole  village  was  out,  young  and  old,  standing  for 
a  moment  to  satisfy  themselves  that  the  intelligence  was  correct ; 
after  which,  about  a  dozen  of  the  youngsters  sprang  forward, 
with  the  speed  of  so  many  antelopes,  to  meet  us,  whilst  the 
elders  returned  with  a  soberer  but  not  less  satisfied  manner  into 
the  houses.  Then  commenced  the  usual  battle,  as  to  who  should 
be  honored  by  permission  to  carry  the  fiddle-case.  Oh,  that 
fiddle-case  !  For  seven  long  years  it  was  an  honor  exclusively 
allowed  to  myself,  whenever  Mickey  attended  a  dance  anywhere 
at  all  near  us  ;  and  never  was  the  Lord  Chancellor's  mace — to 
which,  by  the  way,  with  great  respect  for  his  lordship,  it  bore  a 
considerable  resemblance — carried  with  a  prouder  heart  or  a 
more  exulting  eye.     But  so  it  is — 

"  These  little  things  are  great  to  little  nun." 

"Blood  alive,  Mickey,  you're  welcome!"  "How  is  every 
bone  of  you,  Mickey?  Bedad  we  gev  ye  up."  "No,  we 
didn't  give  you  up,  Mickey  ;  never  hesd  him  ;  sure  we  knew 
very  well  you'd  not  desart  the  Towny  boys — whoo  ! — Fol  de  rol 
lol  !"  "Ah,  Mickey,  won't  you  sing  '  There  was  a  wee  devil 
come  over  the  wall?"  "To  be  sure  he  will,  but  wait  till  he 
comes  home  and  gets  his  dinner  first.  Is't  off  an  empty  stomach 
you'd  have  him  to  sing?"  "Mickey,  give  me  the  fiddle-case, 
won't  you,  Mickey!"  "No,  to  mc,  Mickey."  "Never  heed 
them,  Mickey  ;  you  promised  it  to  me  at  the  dance  in  Carntaul. " 

"  Aisy,  boys,  aisy.  The  truth  is,  none  of  yez  can  get  the 
fiddle-case.  Shibby,  my  fiddle,  hasn't  been  well  for  the  last  day 
or  two,  and  can't  l)ear  to  be  carried  by  any  one  barrin'  meself " 

"  Blood  alive  !  sick,  is  it,  Mickey  ? — and  what  ails  her  ?'' 

"Why,  some  o'  the  doctors  says  there's  a  frog  in  her,  and 
others  that  she  has  colic  ;  but  I'm  going  to  give  her  a  dose 
of  Balgriffauns  when  I  get  up  to  the  house  aI)ove." 

As  we  went  along,  Mickey,  with  his  usual  tact,  got  out  of  us 
all  the  infor.nation  respecting  the  several  courtsliips  of  the  neigh- 
borhood that  had  reached  us,  and  as  much,  too,  of  the  village 
gossip  and  scandal  as  we  knew. 

Nothing  can  exceed  the  overflowing  kindness   and   affection 


THE    IRISH   FIDDLER.  Jiy 

with  which  the  Irish  fiddler  is  received  on  the  occasion  of  a  dance 
or  merry-making;  and  to  do  him  justice  he  loses  no  opportunity 
of  exaggerating  his  own  importance.  From  habit,  and  his  posi- 
tion among  the  people,  his  wit  and  power  of  repartee  are  neces- 
sarily cultivated  and  sharpened.  Not  one  of  his  jokes  ever  fails 
— a  circiimstance  which  improves  his  humor  mightily ;  for  noth- 
ing on  earth  sustains  it  so  much  as  knowing  that,  whether  good 
or  bad,  it  will  be  laughed  at.  Mickey,  by  the  way,  was  a 
bachelor,  and,  though  blind,  was  able,  as  he  himself  used  to  say, 
to  see  through  his  ears  better  than  another  could  through  the 
eyes.  He  knew  every  voice  at  once,  and  every  boy  and  girl  in 
the  parish  by  name,  the  moment  he  heard  them  speak. 

On  reaching  the  house  he  is  bound  for,  he  either  partakes  of, 
or  at  least  is  offered,  refreshment,  after  which  comes  the  ecstatic 
moment  to  the  yoimgsters;  but  all  this  is  done  by  due  and  solenm 
preparation.  First  he  calls  for  a  pair  of  scissors,  with  which  he 
pares  or  seems  to  pare  his  nails;  then  asks  for  a  piece  of  rosin, 
and  in  an  instant  half  a  dozen  boys  are  off  at  a  break -neck  pace, 
to  the  next  shoemaker's,  to  procure  it;  whilst  in  the  meantime  he 
deliberately  pulls  a  piece  out  of  his  pocket  and  rosins  his  bow. 
But,  heavens  !  what  a  ceremony  the  opening  of  that  fiiddle-case 
is !  The  manipulation  of  the  blind  man  as  he  runs  his  hand 
down  to  the  key-hole — the  turning  of  the  key — the  taking  out  of 
the  fiddle — the  twang  twang — and  then  the  first  ecstatic  sound, 
as  the  bow  is  drawn  across  the  strings;  then  comes  a  screwing; 
then  a  delicious  saw  or  two;  again  another  screwing — twang 
twang— and  away  he  goes  with  the  favorite  tune  of  the  good 
woman,  for  such  is  the  etiquette  upon  these  occasions.  The  house 
is  immediately  thronged  with  the  neighbors,  and  a  preliminary 
dance  is  taken,  in  which  the  old  folks,  with  good  humored  vio- 
lence, are  literally  dragged  out,  and  forced  to  join.  Tlien  come 
the  congratulations — "Ah,  Jack,  you  could  do  it  wanst,"  says 
Mickey,  "an'  can  still;  you  have  a  kick  in  you  yet."  "Why, 
Mickey,  I  seen  dancin'  in  my  time,"  the  old  man  will  reply,  his 
brow  relaxed  by  a  remnant  of  his  former  pride,  and  the  hilarity 
of  the  moment,  "  but  you  see  the  breath  isn't  what  it  used  to  be 


Zlfi  THE   ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

wid  me,  when  I  could  dance  the  Baltcorum  yig  on  the  bottom 
of  a  ten-gallon  cask.  Heigho  ! — well,  well — I'm  sure  I  thought 
my  dancin'  days  wor  over  " 

"  Bedad  an'  you  wor  matched  anyhow,"  rejoined  the  fiddler. 
"  Molshy  carried  as  light  a  heel  as  ever  you  did;  sorra  a  woman 
of  her  years  ever  1  seen  could  cut  the  buckle  wid  her.  You 
would  know  the  tune  on  her  feet  still." 

"Ah,  Mickey,  the  thruth  is,"  the  good  woman  would  say, 
"  we  have  no  sich  dancin'  now  as  there  was  in  my  days." 

"  But  as  good  fiddlers,  Molshy,  eh  ?  Come  now,  »it  down, 
Jack,  till  I  give  you  your  ould  favorite,  '  Cannie  Soogah.^  " 

These  were  happy  moments  and  happy  times,  which  might 
well  be  looked  upon  as  picturing  the  simple  manners  of  country 
life  with  very  little  of  moral  shadow  to  obscure  the  cheerfulness 
which  lit  up  the  Irish  heart  and  hearth  into  humble  happiness. 
Mickey,  with  his  usual  good  nature,  never  forgot  the  younger 
portion  of  the  audience.  After  entertaining  the  old  and  full- 
grown,  he  would  call  for  a  key,  one  end  of  which  he  placed  in 
his  mouth,  in  order  to  make  the  fiddle  sing  for  the  children  their 
favorite  song,  beginning  with 

"  Oh  !  grandmamma,  will  you  squeeze  my  wig  ?" 
This  he  did  in  such  a  manner,  through  the  medium  of  the  key, 
that  the  words  seemed  to  be  spoken  by  the  instrument,  and  not 
by  himself.  After  this  was  over,  he  would  sing  us,  to  his  own 
accompaniment,  another  favorite.  "  There  was  a  wee  devil 
looked  over  the  wall,"  which  generally  closed  that  portion  of 
the  entertainment  so  kindly  designed  for  jts. 

Upon  those  moments  I  have  often  witnessed  marks  of  deep 
and  pious  feeling,  occasioned  by  some  memoiy  of  the  absent  or 
the  dead,  that  were  as  beautiful  as  they  were  afiecting.  If,  for 
instance,  a  favorite  son  or  daughter  happened  to  be  removed  by 
death,  the  father  or  mother,  remembering  the  air  which  was 
loved  Ijest  by  the  departed,  would  pause  a  moment,  and  with 
a  voice  full  of  sorrow,  say,  "  Mickey,  there  is  one  (ii?ie  that  I 
would  like  to  hear;  I  love  to  think  of  it,  and  to  hear  it;  I  do  for 
the  sake  of  them  that's  gone — my  darlin'  son  that's  lyin'  low, 


THE   IRISH   FIDDLER.  2I9 

it  was  he  that  loved  it.  His  ear  is  closed  against  it  now;  but  for 
his  sake — aye,  for  your  sake,  avoumeen  machree — we  will  hear 
it  wanst  more." 

Mickey  always  played  such  tunes  in  his  best  style,  and  amidst 
a  silence  that  was  only  broken  by  sobs,  suppressed  moanings, 
and  the  other  tokens  of  profound  sorrow.  These  gushes,  how- 
ever, of  natural  feeling  soon  passed  away.  In  a  few  minutes  the 
smiles  returned,  the  mirth  broke  out  again,  and  the  lively  dance 
went  on  as  if  their  hearts  had  been  incapable  of  such  affection 
for  the  dead — affection  at  once  so  deep  and  tender.  But  many  a 
time  the  light  of  cheerfulness  plays  along  the  stream  of  Irish 
feeling,  when  cherished  sorrow  lies  removed  from  the  human  eye 
far  down  from  the  surface. 

These  preliminary  amusements  being  now  over,  Mickey  is 
conducted  to  the  dance-house,  where  he  is  carefully  installed  in 
the  best  chair,  and  immediately  the  dancing  commences.  It  is 
not  my  purpose  to  describe  an  Irish  dance  here,  having  done  it 
more  than  once  elsewhere.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  Mickey  is 
now  in  his  glory;  and  proud  may  the  young  man  be  who  fills 
the  honorable  post  of  his  companion,  and  sits  next  him.  He  is 
a  living  storehouse  of  intelligence,  a  travelling  directory  for  the 
parish^the  lover's  text-book — the  young  woman's  best  compan- 
ion; for  where  is  the  courtship  going  on  of  which  he  is  not  cogni- 
zant ?  where  is  there  a  marriage  on  the  tapis,  with  the  particulars 
of  which  he  is  not  acquainted  ?  He  is  an  authority  whom  no- 
body would  think  of  questioning.  It  is  now,  too,  that  he  scat- 
ters his  jokes  about;  and  so  correct  and  well  trained  is  his  ear, 
that  he  can  frequently  name  the  young  man  who  dances,  by  the 
peculiarity  of  his  step. 

"Ah  ha!  Paddy  Brien,  you're  there?  Sure  I'd  know  the 
sound  of  your  smoothin' -irons  anywhere.  Is  it  thrue,  Paddy, 
that  you  wor  sint  for  down  to  Errigle  Keerogue,  to  kill  the 
clocks  for  Dan  M'Mahon  ?  But,  nabuklish !  Paddy,  what'U 
you  have  ? 

"  Is  that  Grace  Reilly  on  the  flure  ?  Faix,  avoumeen,  you 
can   do  it;  devil  o'  your  likes  I  see  anywhere.      I'll  lay  Shibby 


a20  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

to  a  penny  trump  that  you  could  dance  your  own  nanaetake — ^the 
Calleen  dhas  dkun,  the  bonny  brown  girl — upon  a  spider's  cob- 
web, widout  breakin'  it.  Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  Grace,  dear,  to 
tie  the  knot;  y/Zwait  for  you." 

Several  times  in  the  course  of  the  night  a  plate  is  broaglit 
round,  and  a  collection  made  for  the  fiddler;  this  was  the  mo- 
ment when  Mickey  used  to  let  the  jokes  fly  in  every  direction. 
The  timid  he  shamed  into  liberality,  the  vain  he  praised ;  and 
the  niggardly  he  assailed  by  open  hardy  satire;  all  managed, 
however,  with  such  an  under-current  of  good  humor,  that  no 
one  could  take  oflense.  No  joke  ever  told  better  than  that  of 
the  broken  string.  Whenever  this  happened  at  night,  Mickey 
would  call  out  to  some  soft  fellow,  "  B16od  alive,  Ned  Martin, 
will  you  bring  me  a  candle?— I've  broken  a  string."  The  un- 
thinking young  man,  forgetting  that  he  was  blind,  would  take 
the  candle  in  a  hurry,  and  fetch  it  to  him. 

"Faix,  Ned,  I  knew  you  ww  jist  fit  for't;  houldin'  a  candle 
to  a  dark  man  !  Isn't  he  a  beauty,  boys  ? — look  at  him,  girls — 
as  cute  as  a  pancake." 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  the  mirth  on  such  occasions  was 
convulsive.  Another  similar  joke  was  also  played  off  by  him 
against  such  as  he  knew  to  be  ungenerous  at  the  collection. 

"Paddy  Smith,  I  want  a  word  wid  you.  I'm  goin'  across 
the  counthry  as  far  as  Ned  Donnelly's,  and  I  wan't  you  to  help 
me  along  the  road,  as  the  night  is  dark." 

"  To  be  sure,  Mickey.  I'll  bring  you  over  as  snug  as  if  you 
were  on  a  clane  plate,  man  alive  ! ' ' 

"Thank  you,  Paddy;  throth,  you've  the  dacency  in  you;  an' 
kind  father  for  you,  Paddy.  Maybe  I'll  do  as  much  for  you 
some  other  time." 

Mickey  never  spoke  of  this  imtil  the  trick  was  played  off,  af- 
ter which  he  published  it  to  the  whole  parish;  and  Paddy  of 
course  was  made  a  standing  jest  for  being  so  silly  as  to  think 
that  night  or  day  had  any  difference  to  a  man  who  could  not  see. 

Thus  passed  the  life  of  Mickey  M'Rorey,  and  thus  pass  the 
lives  of  most  of  his  class,  serenely  and  happily.     As  the  sailor 


THE    IRISH    FIDDLER.  221 

to  his  ship,  the  sportsman  to  his  gun,  so  is  the  fiddler  attached 
to  his  fiddle.  His  hopes  and  pleasures,  though  limited,  are  fiill. 
His  heart  is  necessarily  light,  for  he  comes  in  contact  with  the 
best  and  brightest  side  of  life  and  nature;  and  the  consequence  is 
that  their  mild  and  mellow  lights  are  reflected  on  and  from 
himself.  I  am  ignorant  whether  poor  Mickey  is  dead  or  not; 
but  I  dare  say  he  forgets  the  boy  to  whose  young  spirit  he  com- 
municated so  much  delight,  and  who  often  danced  with  a  buoy  - 
ant  and  careless  heart  to  the  pleasant  notes  of  his  fiddle.  Mickey 
M'Rorey,  farewell !  Whether  living  or  dead,  peace  be  with  you. 


;222  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 


BARNY  O'GRADY. 


Behold  me  safely  landed  at  Philadelphia,  with  one  hundred 
pounds  in  my  pocket — a  small  sum  of  money,  but  many,  from 
yet  more  trifling  beginnings,  have  grown  rich  in  America.  Many 
passengers  who  came  over  in  the  same  ship  with  me  had  not  half 
so  much.  Several  of  them  were  indeed  wretchedly  poor.  Among 
others  there  was  an  Irishman,  who  was  known  by  the  name  of 
Bamy — a  contraction,  I  believe,  for  Barnaby.  As  to  his  sur- 
name, he  could  not  undertake  to  spell  it,  but  he  assured  me  there 
was  no  better.  This  man,  with  many  of  his  relatives,  had  come 
to  England,  according  to  their  custom,  during  harvest  time,  to 
assist  in  reaping,  because  they  gain  higher  wages  than  Ifi  their 
own  country.  Bamy  had  heard  that  he  could  get  still  higher 
wages  for  labor  in  America,  and  accordingly  he  and  his  two 
sons,  lads  of  eighteen  and  twenty,  took  their  passage  for  !Phila- 
delphia.  A  merrier  mortal  I  never  saw.  We  used  to  l-.ear  him 
upon  deck,  continually  singing  or  whistling  his  Irish  tunes;  and 
I  should  never  have  guessed  that  this  man's  life  had  been  a  se- 
ries of  hardships  and  misfortunes. 

When  we  were  leaving  the  ship,  I  saw  him,  to  my  great  sur- 
prise, crying  bitterly ;  and  upon  inquiring  what  was  the  rcAUer, 
he  answered  that  it  was  not  for  himself,  but  for  his  two  sons,  he 
was  grieving;  because  they  were  to  be  made  red^mptioti  mm, 
that  is,  they  were  to  be  bound  to  work,  during  a  certain  time,  for 
the  captain,  or  for  whomsoever  he  pleased,  till  the  money  dus 
for  their  passage  should  be  paid.  Although  I  was  somewhat 
surprised  at  any  one's  thinking  of  coining  on  board  a  vessel 
without  having  one  farthing  in  his  pocket,  yet  I  could  not  for- 
bear paying  the  money  for  this  poor  fellow.     He  dropped  down 


BARNY    O  GRADY.  223: 

on  the  deck  upon  both  his  knees,  as  suddenly  as  if  he  had  been 
shot,  and  holding  up  his  hands  to  heaven,  prayed,  first  in  Irish^ 
and  then  in  English,  with  fer\'ent  fluency,  that  "  I  and  mine 
might  never  want;  that  I  might  live  long  and  happy;  that 
success  might  attend  my  honor  wherever  I  went,  and  that  I 
might  enjoy  for  evermore  all  sorts  of  blessings  and  crowns  of 
glory."  As  I  had  an  English  prejudice  in  favor  of  silent  grati- 
tude, I  was  rather  disgusted  by  all  this  eloquence ;  I  turned  away 
abruptly,  and  got  into  the  boat  which  waited  to  carry  me  to- 
shore. 

I  had  now  passed  three  years  in  Philadelphia,  and  was  not  a. 
farthing  the  richer,  but,  alas,  a  great  deal  poorer.  My  inveter- 
ate habit  of  procrastination — of  delaying  eveiything  till  to- 
morrow, always  stood  betwixt  me  and  prosperity.  I  at  last  re- 
solved upon  leaving  the  land  of  the  star-spangled  banner;  but 
when  I  came  to  reckon  up  my  resources,  I  found  that  I  could  not 
do  sc,  unless  I  disposed  of  my  watch  and  my  wife's  trinkets.  I 
was  not  accustomed  to  such  things,  and  I  was  ashamed  to  go  to 
the  pawnbroker's,  lest  I  should  be  met  and  recognized  by  some 
of  my  friends.  I  wrapped  myself  up  in  an  old  surtout,  and 
slouched  my  hat  over  my  face.  As  I  was  crossing  the  quay,  I 
met  a  party  of  gentlemen  walking  arm  in  arm.  I  squeezed  past 
them,  but  one  stopped  and  looked  after  me;  and  though  I 
turned  down  another  street  to  escape  him,  he  dodged  me  unper- 
ceived.  Just  as  I  came  out  of  the  pawnbroker's  shop  I  saw  him 
posted  opposite  me;  I  brushed  by;  I  could  with  pleasure  have 
knocked  him  down  for  his  impertinence.  By  the  time  that  I  had 
reached  the  comer  of  the  street  I  heard  a  child  calling  after  me; 
I  stopped,  and  a  little  boy  put  into  my  hand  my  watch,  saying, 
*'  Sir,  the  gentleman  says  you  left  your  watch  and  these  thingujti- 
bobs  by  mistake." 

"  What  gentleman  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  but  he  was  one  that  said  I  looked  like  an 
honest  chap,  and  he'd  trust  me  to  run  and  give  you  the  watch. 
He  is  dressed  in  a  blue  coat,  and  went  towards  the  quay.  That's 
all  I  know." 


.124  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

On  opening  the  paper  of  trinkets,  I  found  a  card  with  these 
words: — "  Bartiy — with  kind  thanks." 

"Bamy!  poor  Bamy  !  An  Irishman  whose  passage  I  paid 
coming  to  America  three  years  ago.     Is  it  possible  ?" 

I  ran  after  him  the  way  which  the  child  directed,  and  was  so 
fortunate  as  just  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  skirt  of  his  coat  as  he 
went  into  a  neat,  good-looking  house.  I  walked  up  and  down 
for  some  time,  expecting  him  to  come  out  again;  for  I  could  not 
suppose  that  it  belonged  to  Bamy.  I  asked  a  grocer  who  was 
leaning  over  his  hatch-door  if  he  knew  who  lived  in  the  next 
.  house  ? 

"An  Irish  gentleman  of  the  name  of  O'Grady." 

"  And  his  Christian  name  ?" 

"Here  it  is  in  my  books,  sir — Bamaby  O'Grady." 

I  knocked  at  Mr.  O'Grady's  door  and  made  my  way  into  the 
parlor,  where  I  found  him,  his  two  sons,  and  his  wife,  sitting  very 
sociably  at  tea.  He  and  the  two  young  men  rose  immediately, 
to  set  me  a  chair. 

"  You  are  welcome,  kindly  welcome,  sir,"  said  he.  "  This  is 
an  honor  I  never  expected,  any  way.  Be  pleased  to  take  the 
seat  next  the  fire.  'Twould  be  hard,  indeed,  if  you  should  not 
have  the  best  seat  that's  to  be  had  in  this  house,  where  we 
none  of  us  ever  should  have  sat,  nor  had  seats  to  sit  upon,  but 
for  you." 

The  sons  pulled  off  my  shabby  greatcoat  and  took  away 
my  hat,  and  Mrs.  O'Grady  made  up  the  fire.  There  was  some- 
thing in  their  manner,  altogether,  which  touched  me  so  much 
that  it  was  with  difficulty  I  could  keep  myself  from  bursting 
into  tears.  They  saw  this,  and  Bamy  (for  I  shall  never  call 
him  anything  else),  as  he  thought  that  I  should  like  better  to 
hear  of  public  affairs  than  to  speak  of  my  own,  began  to  ask 
his  sons  if  they  had  seen  the  day's  paper,  and  what  news  there 
were. 

As  soon  as  I  could  command  my  voice,  I  congratulated  this 
family  upon  the  happy  situation  in  which  I  found  them,  and  asked 
by  what  lucky  accident  they  had  succeeded  so  well. 


BARNY    O  GRADY.  225 

"  The  luckiest  accident  ever  happened meheioxQ  or  since  I  came 
to  America,"  said  Bamy,  "  was  being  on  board  the  same  vessel 
with  such  a  man  as  you.  If  you  had  not  given  me  the  first  lift,  I 
had  been  down  for  good  and  all,  and  trampled  under  foot,  long 
and  long  ago.  But  after  that  first  lift,  all  was  as  easy  as  life. 
My  two  sons  here  were  not  taken  from  me — God  bless  you;  for  I 
never  can  bless  you  enough  fir  that.  The  lads  were  left  to  work 
for  me  and  with  me;  and  we  never  parted,  hand  or  heart,  but 
just  kept  working  on  together,  and  put  all  our  earnings,  as  fast 
as  we  got  them,  into  the  hands  of  that  good  woman,  and  lived 
hard  at  first,  as  we  were  born  and  bred  to  do,  thanks  be  to  heaven. 
Then  we  swore  against  all  sorts  of  drink  entirely.  And  as  I  had 
occasionally  served  the  masons  when  I  lived  a  laboring  man  in 
the  county  of  Dublin,  and  knew  something  of  that  business,  why, 
whatever  I  knew  I  made  the  most  of  it,  and  a  trowel  felt  noways 
strange  to  me,  so  I  went  to  work,  and  had  higher  wages  at  first 
than  I  deserved.  The  same  with  the  two  boys:  one  was  as  much 
of  a  blacksmith  as  would  shoe  a  horse,  and  the  other  a  bit  of  a 
carpenter;  so  the  one  got  plenty  of  work  in  the  forges,  and  the 
other  in  the  dock- yards  as  a  ship-carpenter.  So,  early  and  late, 
morning  and  evening,  we  were  all  at  the  work,  and  just  went 
this  way  struggling  on  even  for  a  twelvemonth,  and  found,  with 
the  high  wages  and  constant  employ  we  had  met,  that  we  were 
getting  greatly  better  in  the  world.  Besides,  my  wife  was  not 
idle.  When  a  girl,  she  had  seen  baking,  and  had  always  a  good 
notion  of  it,  and  just  tried  her  hand  upon  it  now,  and  found  the 
loaves  went  down  with  the  customers,  who  came  faster  and  faster 
for  them;  and  this  was  a  great  help.  Then  I  turned  master 
mason,  and  had  my  men  under  me,  and  took  a  house  to  build  by 
the  job,  and  that  did;  and  then  on  to  anotlicr;  and  after  build- 
ing many  for  the  neighbors,  'twas  fit  and  my  turn,  I  thought,  to 
build  one  for  myself,  which  1  did  out  of  theirs,  without  wronging 
them  of  a  penny.  In  short,"  continued  Barny,  if  you  were  to 
question  me  how  I  have  got  on  so  well  in  the  world,  upon  my 
conscience,  I  should  answer,  we  never  made  Saint  Monday,  and 
never  put  off  till  to-morrow  what  we  could  do  to-day." 


226  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

I  believe  I  sighed  deeply  at  this  observation  of  Bamy's,  not- 
withstanding the  comic  phraseology  in  which  it  was  expressed. 

"  And  would  it  be  too  much  liberty  to  ask  you,"  said  Bamy, 
"  to  drink  a  cup  of  tea,  and  to  taste  a  slice  of  my  good  woman's 
bread  and  butter  ?  And  happy  the  day  we  see  you  eating  it, 
and  only  wish  we  could  serve  you  in  any  way  whatsoever." 

I  verily  believe  the  generous  fellow  forgot  at  this  instant  that 
he  had  redeemed  my  watch  and  wife's  trinkets.  He  would  not 
let  me  thank  him  as  much  as  I  wished,  but  kept  pressing  upon 
me  fresh  offers  of  service.  When  he  found  I  was  going  to  leave 
America,  he  asked  what  vessel  we  should  go  in.  I  was  really 
afraid  to  tell  him,  lest  he  should  attempt  to  pay  for  my  passage. 
But  for  this  he  had,  as  I  afterwards  found,  too  much  delicacy  of 
sentiment.  He  discovered,  by  questioning  the  captains,  in  what 
ship  we  were  to  sail;  and  when  we  went  on  board,  we  found  him 
and  his  sons  there  to  take  leave  of  us,  which  they  did  in  the  most 
affectionate  manner;  and  after  they  were  gone,  we  found  in  the 
state  cabin,  directed  to  me,  everything  that  could  be  useful  or 
agreeable  to  us,  as  sea  stores  for  a  long  voyage. 


OROHOO,    THE    FAIRY   MAN.  22/ 


OROHOO,   THE   FAIRY   MAN. 


At  one  time  I  resided  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  "  plains  of 
Boyle,"  a  celebrated  pasture  country,  and  was  the  possessor  of  a 
cow  whose  milk  and  butter  were  plentiful  in  quantity  and  excel- 
lent in  quality,  and  materially  contributed  to  the  comforts  of  my 
family.  She  was  a  beautiful  and  a  gentle  creature,  and  I  flattered 
myself  that  in  her  I  possessed  the  foundress  of  a  numerous  herd, 
and  the  germ  of  a  profitable  and  extensive  dairy. 

The  idea  was  very  prevalent  there  that  it  was  in  the  power  of 
evil-disposed  persons  to  deprive  you  of  your  milk  and  butter,  and 
I  heard  many  complaints  of  the  kind ;  the  general  voice  fastened 
the  imputation  on  a  woman  who  lived  in  the  vicinity,  who  was 
locally  termed  "the  Hawk,  "and  certainly  the  fire  of  her  eye  and 
the  sharpness  of  her  beak  justified  the  appellation:  she  was  a 
comely  middle-aged  person,  in  rather  easy  circumstances,  her 
husband  being  a  small  farmer;  but  he  lay  under  the  suspicion  of 
being  concerned  in  a  murder  some  time  before.  She  was  a  re- 
puted witch,  and  the  entire  family  were  disliked  and  avoided. 

One  morning  in  the  month  of  January  I  was  informed  that 
a  woman  had  come  into  my  kitchen,  who  occupied  herself  in 
watching  th;  motions  of  the  family,  without  stating  her  business. 
On  going  down,  I  found  her  well  dressed  and  well  looking,  but 
with  a  very  sinister  cast  of  countenance.  On  asking  if  she  want- 
ed me,  she  said  she  had  heard  I  was  in  want  of  some  geese,  and 
that  she  had  a  few  to  dispose  of.  "  How  many  ?"  said  I.  *'  A 
goose  and  a  gander,"  she  replied.  "  How  much  do  you  want 
for  them?"  "  Seven-and-sixpence!"  I  exclaimed  in  surprise, 
as  the  usual  price  then  was  from  one  shilling  to  one-and-sixpence 
each.     "Why,  how  many  have  you ?"  as  I  really  thought  I  had 


228  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

made  a  mistake  in  the  number.  "  A  goose  and  a  gander,"  said 
she.  "And  doyou  suppose  me  to  be  a  goose,  to  give  such  a  price 
as  that?"  said  I.  "  Oh,"  said  she,  "they  are  good  geese,  and 
only  I  wish  to  serve  you,  I  would  not  offer  them  at  all." 
•'Indeed!  I  am  much  obliged  by  your  good  wishes,"  said  I; 
"  but  as  I  think  you  want  to  impose  upon  me,  you  must  take 
your  geese  to  another  market,  for  I  will  not  have  them  at  any 
price,  and  the  sooner  you  take  yourself  off  the  better."  She  got 
higly  offended,  muttered  something  about  my  being  sorry  for  re- 
fusing them,  an  J  went  away  in  high  dudgeon;  and  after  she  was 
gone  I  found  it  was  "the  Hawk  "  who  had  favored  me  with  the 
visit. 

On  the  same  morning  a  gang  of  strollers,  consisting  of  tinkers, 
chimney-sweeps,  a  brace  or  two  of  beggars,  and  a  piper,  had 
pitched  their  tent  on  the  roadside,  a  short  distance  from  my  resi- 
dence; the  membci-s  of  the  party  had  distributed  themselves  over 
the  surrounding  district  in  pursuit  of  their  various  avocations;  it 
also  happened  to  be  churning  day,  and  my  wife  having  set  her 
vessels  in  order,  was  proceeding  with  her  lacteal  operations 
favorably — the  milk  had  cracked,  the  butter  was  expected — when 
the  sound  of  music  was  heard ;  the  piper  attached  to  the  party  had 
come  to  give  us  a  specimen  of  his  skill;  he  favored  us  with  a  few 
Connaught  planxties,  was  duly  rewarded,  and  departed.  Shortly 
after  he  was  gone,  two  buxom  baggages,  brown  and  bare-legged, 
with  cans  in  their  hands,  kerchiefs  on  their  heads,  and  huge 
massive  rings  on  their  fingers,  came  and  demanded  an  alms. 
They  were  told  there  was  nothing  then  ready,  on  which  one  of 
them  asked  a  drink.  "  I  have  nothing  to  offer  you  but  water," 
said  my  wife,  "until  the  chuming's  done."  "  Well,  water  itself, " 
said  she;  on  getting  which,  she  took  a  sup  or  two,  put  the  re- 
mainder in  her  can,  and  went  off;  and,  strange  as  it  may  seem, 
my  butter  went  too.  And  from  that  day  in  January  until  May 
eve  following,  not  a  morsel  had  we  from  our  l^eautiful  Brownie. 

As  I  did  not  put  faith  in  witchcraft,  I  was  willing  to  attribute 
this  to  some  natural  cause  affecting  the  cow,  though  the  milk 
showed  no  perceptible   change  in  either   quantity   or  quality; 


OROHOO,    THE    FAIRY   MAN.  229 

neither  did  she  exhibit  any  symptoms  of  ailment  or  disorder, 
except  that  she  began  to  cast  her  hair.  She  was  well  supplied 
with  good  fodder,  comfortably  lodged  and  well  attended,  and 
every  possible  care  taken  of  the  milk,  but  all  to  no  purpose ;  the 
butter  was  not  forthcoming;  and  for  my  incredulity  I  was  laughed 
at  by  my  neighbors.  "Your  cow  is  bewitched,"  cried  they; 
•'  and  you  may  as  well  throw  chaff  against  the  wind  as  tWnkyou 
will  get  your  butter  back  till  you  get  the  charm."  Some  said 
"  the  Hawk  "  had  it,  some  that  the  gypsy  took  it  away  in  her 
can,  and  others  that  it  followed  the  piper.  Be  that  as  it  xaay,  I 
had  to  eat  my  bread  butterless,  and  brood  over  my  loss,  without 
even  the  comfort  of  common  condolence. 

Various  were  the  counter-charms  recommended  for  my  adop- 
tion. "  Send  for  Fraserthe  Scotchman  from  beyond  the  Lough," 
said  one;  "  he  fears  neither  man  nor  fiend,  and  he  will  surely  get 
it."  "  Send  for  'the  Hawk,'  and  clip  a  bit  off  her  ear,"  said 
another.  "  Let  them  keep  their  mouths  full  of  water,  and  never 
speak  while  they  are  churning,"  said  a  third.  In  short,  I  found 
there  were  as  many  ways  of  getting  it  back  as  there  were  ol 
losing  it — all  equally  simple,  and  probably  as  efficacious. 

Thus  matters  continued  until  the  early  part  of  the  month  ot 
April,  when  one  morning  a  man  called,  who  desired  to  see  me. 
I  found  him  a  light,  active,  'cute-looking  fellow,  low  in  stature 
and  spare  in  habit,  but  sinewy,  well  set  and  well  knit,  and  regu- 
larly smoke-dried.  He  was  pretty  well  clad  in  frieze,  cord 
breeches,  and  yard  stockings  and  pumps;  his  caubeen  on  one 
side,  a  cutty  in  his  mouth,  and  a  certain  jauntiness  in  his  air,  and 
crafty  audacity  in  his  look,  which  seemed  to  say,  "  I'd  have  you 
to  know  I'm  a  clever  fellow." 

"  So,"  said  he  at  once  without  preamble,  "  so  you've  lost  your 
butter." 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "  'tis  certainly  gone." 

"Well,  if  you  like,  I'll  get  it  for  you.  My  name  is  Orohoo 
(O'Hara);  I  live  at  Sliev  Bawn — the  people  call  me  the  Fairy 
man — I  can  find  things  that's  stole — and  I  keep  the^^arva/fy." 

"Indeed!"  said  I;  "why,  you  must  be  a  clever  fellow;  but 
can  you  get  my  butter  ?" 


230  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"  Not  a  doubt  of  it,"  said  he,  "if  it  is  in  the  country." 

I  had  heard  of  the  garvally  before,  which  was  described  as  "a 
crooked  thing  like  the  handle  of  an  umbrella,  covered  with  green 
baize."  It  was  formerly  in  much  repute  for  swearing  on;  "and 
a  terrible  thing  it  was,  for  if  you  swore  falsely  and  it  round  your 
neck,  your  mouth  would  turn  to  the  back  of  your  head,  or  you'd 
get  such  a  throttling  as  you'd  never  get  the  better  oT."  It  had 
latterly,  however,  lost  much  of  its  virtue,  or  rather  of  its^ame,  by 
an  unbelieving  vagabond  yoking  it  on  and  swearing  to  a  manifest 
falsehood,  without  suffering  any  visible  inconvenience.  But  to 
return  to  Orohoo. 

He  made  no  stipulation;  but  requiring  a  deep  plsrte,  some 
water  and  salt,  with  a  little  of  the  cow's  milk,  he  commenced  by 
desiring  my  wife  and  me  to  stand  forward.  He  then  asked  our 
names,  if  I  was  the  owner  of  the  cow,  how  long  I  had  had  her, 
if  that  woman  was  my  wife  when  we  had  lost  our  batter,  and  if 
we  suspected  any  person  for  taking  it.  To  these  queries  I  an- 
swered as  was  necessary;  but  to  the  last  I  replied,  I  did  not  be- 
lieve in  witchcraft. 

"Don't  you  believe  in  fairies?"  he  asked. 

"Scarcely,"  said  I. 

"No  matter,"  said  he;  "maybe  before  I'm  done  you  will  be 
lieve  in  them." 

He  then,  in  a  very  solemn  manner,  poured  some  water  into  the 
plate  at  three  several  times.  He  added  the  milk  in  the  same 
manner,  and  then  sprinkled  in  the  salt,  using  the  same  formula. 
He  now  stirred  round  the  mixture  three  times  with  his  finger,  re- 
peating the  words  as  before,  and  desired  us  to  do  the  same.  To 
this  I  demurred,  for  I  did  not  wish  to  evince  any  faith  in  the  pro- 
ceeding by  taking  an  active  part;  but  lie  combated  my  scruples 
by  asking  "  was  it  not  done  in  a  good  name  ?"  Certainly  for  so 
far  I  saw  nothing  very  objectionable,  and  my  wife  feeling  no 
scruple  on  the  subject,  at  their  joint  persuasion  I  did  as  directed. 

He  next  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  over  the  plate  with  his 
hands,  and,  waving  thjm  over  his  head,  cut  several  curious  fig- 
ures in  the  air,  at  the  same  lime  muttering  an  unintelligible  jargon 


OROHOO,    THE    FAIRY   MAN.  23 1 

I  could  not  understand,  but  which,  as  I  could  catch  a  sound  or 
syllable,  bore  a  close  affinity  to  what  is  called  bog  Latia.  Grad- 
ually he  became  much  excited;  he  raved  like  a  demon,  stamped 
with  his  feet,  and  threatened  with  his  fists:  now  his  tones  were 
those  of  supplication  or  entreaty,  anon  of  abjuration  or  command; 
while  his  eye  seemed  fixed  upon  and  to  follow  the  motions  of 
some,  to  us  invisible,  being,  with  which  he  appeared  to  hold  con- 
verse. Suddenly  he  gave  an  unearthly  scream,  as  if  in  an  agony 
of  terror  and  perturbation,  and,  holding  up  his  hands  as  in  the 
act  of  warding  off  a  threatened  danger,  he  retreated  backwards 
round  the  room,  pursued,  as  it  seemed,  by  an  implacable  enemy. 
Gradually  he  regained  the  spot  he  had  left,  turned  himself  to  the 
four  cardinal  points,  making  the  sign  of  the  cross  at  each  turn, 
dipped  his  fingers  in  the  mixture,  devoutly  blessed  himself,  anoint- 
ing his  forehead,  shoulders,  and  breast,  regained  his  self-posses- 
sion, raised  his  hands  and  eyes  in  an  attitude  of  fervent  thankful- 
ness to  heaven,  wiped  the  perspiration  which  profusely  streamed 
from  his  brow  with  the  cuff  of  his  coat,  gradually  recovered  his 
breath,  and  from  a  state  of  the  greatest  possible  excitement  be- 
came calm  and  collected. 

Now,  this  was  all  acting,  to  be  sure,  but  it  was  inimitably  done, 
and  I  confess,  even  armed  as  I  was  with  unbelief,  it  made  a  pow- 
erful impression  on  me.  I  acknowledge  I  did  not  feel  at  all  com- 
fortable. I  did  not  like  the  idea  of  being  in  the  same  room  with 
the  evil  one,  who  to  all  appearance  was  chasing  my  friend  the 
conjuror  round  and  round  it.  I  felt  an  indescribable  sensation  of 
dread  creeping  over  me,  and,  if  I  mistake  not,  there  were  a  few 
drops  of  perspiration  on  my  brow ;  and  my  hair,  of  which  I  have 
not  a  superabundance,  to  my  apprehension  began  to  get  stiff  and 
wiry.  My  wife,  too,  clung  closely  to  my  side  for  protection,  and 
the  agitation  of  her  mind  was  evident  by  the  audible  action  of 
her  heart,  which  in  that  case  beat  only  responsive  to  my  own. 

Having  taken  breath,  he  asked  for  a  ribbon,  which  he  passed 
over  his  forehead  and  round  his  head,  and,  bringing  the  ends  in 
front,  knotted  it  over  his  nose;  then  twining  it  round  his  fingers 
in  the  manner  children  call  a  cat's  cradle,   he  knelt  down  and 


i^2  THE   ZOZIMUS    PAPERS.  ^ 

peered  through  it  attentively  into  the  mixture,  which  I  imagined 
fermented  and  sent  up  a  blue  vapor.  After  gazing  a  few  seconds 
ia  this  manner, 

"  Aha !"  said  he,  "  she  is  not  far  off  that  has  yoorbuiter^  bring 
me  a  lighted  candle,"  which  on  being  brought  he  placed  in  the 
plate.  "Now,"  said  he,  "both  of  you  kneel  down;  fio  as  I  do, 
and  say  as  I  say,  and  we'll  have  her  here  directly." 

"No,"  said  I  decidedly,  "we  will  not." 

I  thought  we  had  gone  far  enough,  and  was  convinted  that 
if  what  we  were  engaged  in  was  not  an  unholy  act,  it  was  at 
least  a  piece  of  gross  deception,  and  I  would  not  collhlenance  it 
by  any  farther  participation. 

"  Why, "  exclaimed  he,  "  don't  you  want  to  get  your  butter  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  I,  "  I  would  like  to  have  my  butter,  bnt  I  don't 
choose  to  resort  to  a  charm  to  obtain  it." 

"  No  doubt  this  is  a  charm,"  said  he,  "  but  it  is  done  m  a  good 
name;  and  I  have  done  it  before  for  as  good  as  evor  jwu  were." 

"  So  much  the  worse,"  I  replied;  "the  holy  ijam&  sihould 
never  be  profaned  in  such  a  manner,  and  I  am  sorry  {iiy  person 
would  be  so  wicked  or  so  foolish  as  to  encourage  you  in  jour 
tricks.  I  neither  like  you  nor  your  proceedings,  and  Vic  sooner 
you  go  about  your  business  the  better. ' ' 

He  started  to  his  feet  in  a  passion,  blew  out  the  candle,  seized 
the  plate,  and  attempted  to  throw  the  contents  into  the  fireplace; 
but  my  wife,  who  did  not  wish  her  hearth  to  be  wet,  tocscUfrom 
him  and  laid  it  past.  He  fumed  and  stormed,  said  I  let  him  take 
a  great  deal  of  trouble  on  my  account,  and  insisted  on  proceed- 
ing; but  I  was  determined,  and,  being  considerably  chafed  and 
annoyed  by  the  transaction,  I  again  ordered  him  ofif  and  left  him. 

In  a  few  moments  I  heard  the  noise  of  a  violent  altercation 
and  scuffle,  and  I  was  loudly  called  on.  I  hastened  to  the  scene 
of  contention,  and  found  my  wife  holding  Orohoo  by  the  neck, 
and  preventing  his  departure. 

"  What's  all  this  ?"  I  exclaimed. 

"This  fellow,"  said  she,  "when  he  was  going,  took  a  live 
coal  out  of  the  grate,  and  told  me  to  take  care  of  my  children." 


OROHOO,     THE    FAIRY   MAN.  233 

This  he  stiffly  denied,  until  confronted  by  the  servant,  and  I 
threatened  to  give  him  up  to  the  police  as  an  impostor,  when  he 
quailed,  and  acknowledged  that  he  had  said  so,  but  that  he  meant 
no  harm  by  it. 

"And  sure,"  said  he,  "  there's  no  harm  in  bidding  you  mind 
them ;  for  if  your  cow  was  hurt,  so  may  your  childre.  You're 
not  treating  me  right,"  he  continued;  "  I  came  at  the  bidding  of 
a  friend  to  do  you  a  good  turn,  and  asked  nothing  for  it,  and 
now  you're  putting  me  out;  you'll  be  glad  to  see  me  yet,  though. 
But  take  my  advice ;  never  throw  out  your  Sunday's  ashes  until 
Tuesday  morning,  and  always  sweep  your  floor  in  from,  the  door 
to  the  hearth."     And  away  he  went. 

My  heart  now  beat  easy,  for  I  thought  we  had  fairly  got  rid 
of  the  fairy  man;  but  I  was  to  be  still  further  mystified  and  be- 
wildered. On  examining  the  plate  over  which  he  had  held  his 
incantations,  we  found  the  contents  to  be  thick,  yellow  and  slimy 
with  a  red  sediment  like  globules  of  blood  at  the  bottom.  This 
seemed  extraordinary,  as  I  certainly  watched  him  closely,  and 
did  not  see  him  put  anything  into  the  plate  but  milk,  water  and  salt 

The  month  now  drew  near  a  close,  and  our  bread  was  still 
butterless.  This  often  caused  the  morsel  to  stick  in  the  throat  of 
my  poor  dear  partner,  who  felt  none  of  the  scruples  of  conscience 
with  which  I  was  affected,  and  firmly  believed  her  cow  was  be- 
witched. 

"  Here  we  are,  day  afler  day,  losing  our  substance,  and  might 
have  it  only  for  your  squeamishness  in  not  letting  the  fairy  man 
finish  his  job." 

Thus  she  would  argue,  and  hesitated  not  to  call  me  a  fool,  nay, 
a  downright  ass;  and  indeed  my  neighbors  were  much  of  the 
same  opinion;  one  of  them,  a  respectable  farmer's  wife,  was  par- 
ticularly pertinacious.  "My  Robin,"  said  she  one  evening,  as 
they  were  harping  on  the  old  string,  "my  Robin  was  down  in 
Sligo,  and  he  heard  that  if  you  got  the  coulter  of  a  plough,  and 
made  it  red-hot  in  the  fire  while  you  were  churning  the  butter  it 
would  come  back;  or  if  you  chose  to  chum  on  Simday  morning 
before  the  lark  sings,  you  will  surely  get  it." 


234  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"Tempt  me  no  more  with  your  spells  or  Sabbath -breaking;  I 
will  have  none  of  them,"  said  I,  impatiently;  "  I  will  never  bar- 
ter my  peace  of  mind  for  a  pound  of  butler,  if  I  should  never  eat 
a  morsel." 

But,  in  truth,  my  peace  of  mind  was  gone,  for  the  continual 
urg.ng  and  yammering  I  was  subjected  to  made  me  heartily  sick, 
and  I  inwardly  resolved  to  sell  the  cow  the  first  opportunity,  and 
so  end  the  matter. 

On  May  eve,  in  the  afternoon,  I  had  occasion  to  leave  home 
for  a  short  time,  and  on  my  return  was  rather  surprised  to  find 
all  the  windows  closed  and  the  door  locked  against  me.  I 
knocked  and  called  for  admittance  but  received  no  answer;  and 
hearing  the  noise  of  churning  going  on  within,  "  fast  and  furious," 
the  truth  flashed  across  my  mind,  and,  lamenting  my  wife's 
credulity,  I  retired  to  the  garden  to  await  the  result.  In  a  short 
time  she  came  running  out  lilce  one  demented,  clapping  her  hands 
and  screaming,  "Oh  !  we've  got  the  butter,  we've  got  the  but- 
ter !"  and  on  going  in  I  found  a  coulter  phizzing  and  sparkling  at 
a  white  heat  in  the  fire,  an  ass's  shoe  (which  had  been  found  a 
few  days  previously)  under  the  chum,  my  worthy  neighbor  afore- 
said standing  over  it,  panting  and  blowing  from  the  exertionsshe 
had  made  on  my  behoof,  and  wiping  the  dew-drops  from  her 
really  comely  countenance,  and  in  the  churn,  floating  like  lumps 
of  gold  in  a  sea  of  silver,  as  fine  a  churning  of  butter  as  ever  we 
were  blessed  with. 

Well,  I  own  I  was  staggered,  and  being  triumphantly  asked, 
"Now,  is  there  no  witchcraft  or  virtue  in  a  red-hot  coulter  ?"  I 
could  scarcely  muster  up  courage  to  utter  "  No."  In  vain  I  pro- 
tested the  butter  came  back  because  "  Brownie  "  got  back  to  her 
pasture,  in  consequence  of  the  change  in  her  feeding,  from  dry 
fodder  to  the  mellow  and  genial  produce  of  spring,  as  the  loss  at 
first  was  owing  to  the  transition  from  grass  to  hay.  'Twas  to  no 
purpose  to  argue  thus:  all  else  were  positive  it  was  ollierwise; 
but  whether  the  virtue  was  in  Orohoo's  incantations,  tiie  efiicacy 
of  the  red-hot  coulter,  the  influence  of  the  ass's  shoe,  or  the  tre- 


OROHOO,     THE    FAIRY    MAN.  235 

mendous  pommelling  the  milk  was  subjected  to  on  the  occasion, 
no  one  could  exactly  say. 

A  few  days  after,  I  conversed  on  the  subject  with  an  intelligent 
person,  a  herd  in  charge  of  an  extensive  stock  farm.  After  hear- 
ing my  story  to  an  end,  he  indulged  in  a  hearty  laugh  at  my 
expense.  "Faith,"  said  he,  "I  took  you  for  a  sensible  man, 
and  did  not  suppose  you  would  credit  such  folly."  "  I'd  as  soon 
believe  my  mother  was  a  bishop,"  said  I,  "as  put  any  faith  in  it 
some  time  ago.  But  how  can  1  get  over  the  chain  of  circum- 
stantial evidence  ? — not  a  link  of  it  wanting.  First,  '  thp  Hawk' 
coming  with  her  seven-and-sixpenny  geese,  then  the  gypsies  and 
the  piper,  and  losing  my  butter  just  then."  "  'Tis  very  easy," 
said  he,  "to  account  for  it.  In  the  first  place,  yoa  <.ook  your 
cow  from  grass  and  fed  her  on  hay."  "  Yes,  but  she  1m<l  plenty 
of  winter  cabbage,  and  we  gave  her  boiled  potatoes."  "Just 
the  thing;  cabbage  is  good  for  plenty  of  milk,  but  not  for  butter. 
I'll  engage  jou  gave  her  the  potatoes  warm.''  "Yes."  "And 
she  got  a  scour  ?"  "  Indeed  she  did,  and  her  hair  fell  off."  "So 
I  thought.  And  afterwards  she  got  in  good  condition?''  "  Yes." 
"  Oh !  ay,  she  put  her  butter  on  her  ribs.  Did  you  kill  a  pig  at 
Christmas?"  "I  did."  "Where  did  you  put  your  bacoii  in 
press?"  "  Why,  under  the  shelf  in  the  dairy,"  "Now  the 
murder  is  out  !  Never  as  long  as  you  live  put  meat,  either  fi-esh 
or  salt,  near  your  milk-vess;ls;  if  you  do,  you  will  surely  spoil 
your  milk  and  lose  your  butter."  "  This  may  account  for  my 
loss,  but  what  have  you  to  say  to  its  coming  back  ?"  "Why, 
what's  to  hinder  it,  when  your  bacon  is  in  the  chimney  and  your 
cow  at  grass  ?"  "  But  the  red  blobs  in  the  plate,  and  Orohoo 
fighting  the  devil  for  me,  what  do  you  say  to  that?"  Here  he 
gave  way  to  such  a  violent  fit  of  laughter  that  I  really  thouglit 
he  would  burst  the  waistband  of  his  doe-skins.  "  Orohoo  !  ha! 
ha! — Orohoo!  ha!  ha!  ha! — the  greatest  villain  tliat  ever 
breathed  He  came  to  me  one  time  that  1  had  a  cow  sick,  and 
said  she  was  fairy-smitten,  and  that  he  would  cure  her.  He 
began  with  his  tricks  with  the  milk  and  water,  just  the  same  as 
he  did  with  you;  but  I  watched  him  closer;  and  when  I  saw  the 


236  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

smoke  rising  out  of  the  plate,  I  got  him  by  the  neck,  shook  a 
little  bottle  of  vitriol  out  of  the  cuff  of  his  coat,  and  took  a  paper 
of  red  earthy  powder  out  of  his  waistcoat  pocket."  I  looked 
aghast  and  confounded.  Was  I,  then,  the  dupe  of  the  fairy 
man  ?  The  thought  was  humiliating,  and  I  even  wished  that  1 
had  remained  in  ignorance,  but  on  reflection  had  reason  to  con- 
gratulate myself  that  it  was  only  a  temporary  lapse,  and  that  I 
was  right  in  my  original  opinion,  that,  except  the  witchery  of  a 
pair  of  blue  languishers,  or  the  fairy  spell  of  a  silver-tongued 
siren,  there  is  now  no  evil  of  the  kind  to  be  apprehended. 


A   TALE    OF    OTHER    DAYS.  t^J 


A  TALE  OF  OTHER  DAYS. 


Finn  MacCool,  we  all  know,  was  a  great  fellow.  From  lick- 
ing a  dozen  of  bis  enemies  with  his  own  two  hands,  to  building  a 
castle,  nothing  came  wrong  to  liim.  He  built  Dunluce  Castle* 
beyond,  out  on  the  rock,  as  you  may  see,  without  any  help  at  all. 

The  ould  chief  that  he  built  it  for,  when  he  got  the  promise  to 
build  it  from  Fimi,  promised  that  no  help  that  men  could  give 
him  should  be  wanting,  and  he  had  at  his  orders  men  enough, 
but  they  were  of  no  use  to  Finn.  He  made  a  great  hand-barrow  for 
them,  and  threw  great  stones  into  the  water,  from  the  shore  to 
the  rock,  for  them  to  step  on  and  carry  the  stones  across  to  where 
he  wanted  them.  But  the  saixa  a  stone  could  they  bring  to  him. 
The  first  attempt  was  made  by  four  of  the  stoutest  of  them,  but 
before  they  were  half-way  from  the  shore  to  the  rock  every 
mother's  son  of  them  was  as  dizzy  as  a  duck,  and  all  they  could 
do  was  to  scrame  at  Finn  to  save  them.  They  could  neither  go 
to  the  rock  or  to  the  shore,  and  but  for  Finn's  immediate  help 
their  time  was  come.  What  they  complained  of  was  the  depth 
of  the  water,  twenty  feet  or  so.  Finn  tould  them  he  didn't  want 
them  to  walk  on  the  water,  but  on  the  stones  he  had  thrown  in 
for  them  to  step  on,  and  they  were  firm  enough.  lie  bade  them 
step  on  them  where  they  had  dry  footing,  and  think  none  about 
the  depth  of  the  water  between  the  stepping-stones. 

"That,"  as  a  timid  Scotchman  said,  that  happened  to  be 
among  them,  "  wasjeest  the  deeficulty.  It  makes  a  body  seek 
tae  think  o't,  and  wha,  a  wunner,  could  help  thinking  o't,  after 

♦The  ruins  of  Dunluce  Casde  are  still  of  deep  interest  to  the  antiquarian. 


238  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

seeing  the  great  waves  rowling  and  roaring  under  yer  very  nose, 
and  when  ane  kent  it  was  sae  far  to  the  bottom." 

Finn  told  him  if  it  was  far  to  bottom  it  was  not  necessary  to  go 
to  the  bottom,  and  its  being  far  to  it  need  not  be  regarded  as  an 
objection. 

Sawney  said:  "This  was  Eerish  fun,  and  it  would  take  a 
heap  o'  that  to  make  up  the  loss  to  his  payer  wife  at  hame  if  he 
wur  drooned  at  Dunluce." 

At  that  time  there  were  a  great  many  Scotchmen  in  Ireland 
that  tried  to  pa-s  for  Irish,  and  as  they  could  all  speak  Irish 
(which  they  called  Gaelic  in  Scotland)  it  was  not  easy  to  find 
them  out  at  all  times,  but  whenever  the  rale  true  courage  was 
wanted,  it  was  easy  enough  to  see  they  weren't  ti-uosons  of  the  sod. 

When  Sawney  M'Wha  had  said  his  say,  it  became  clear  to 
Finn  that  in  the  gang  sent  to  help  him  there  were  a  great  many 
Sawney  M'Whas.  Finn  was  every  inch  an  Irishman.  He  lost 
all  patience  with  the  cowardly  budaghs,  and  without  Josingtime 
he  began  at  wanst  and  gave  them  such  a  licking,  that,  as  he 
said,  "would  do  them  good  to  the  end  of  their  days;"  and  which 
the  Scotchmen  said  "was  het  and  heavy,  but  better  nor  being 
drooned  !" 

Finn's  first  idea  after  beating  the  Scotchmen — which  seemed  to 
do  him  a  great  deal  of  good — was  to  get  as  many  Irishmen  to 
help  him;  but  somehow,  from  a  late  harvest  or  something,  he 
could  not  find  so  many  as  he  wanted.  What  did  he  do,  do  you 
think  ?  He  had  his  foundations  cut  in  the  rock,  and  all  was 
ready  but  the  building  stones  which  were  lying  on  the  dry  land, 
squared,  dressed  and  ready,  if  they  were  only  on  the  rock.  To 
wait  long  for  the  help  of  others  was  not  in  Finn's  line.  He  com- 
menced at  once  to  carry  them  stone  by  stone  to  the  rock,  throw- 
ing them  each  as  he  raised  them  on  his  shoulder,  just  as  you  or 
me  would  do  a  dry  sod  of  turf.  In  a  short  time  he  Imd  all  on 
the  rock,  and  in  a  shorter  he  had  every  stone  in  its  place,  and 
the  castle  was  built,  and  the  prettiest  too  that  ever  was  seen  m 
that  country,  or  anywhere,  I  might  say,  and  the  strongest — aye, 
so  strong  as  to  defy  the  strongest  blast  and  biggest  wave  that 


A   TALE    OF    OTHER    DAYS.  239 

ever  blew  or  dashed  against  it — and  you  all  know  these  were  no 
trifles. 

It  would  be  a  long  story  to  tell  all  that  he  done  besides  build- 
ing Danluce  Castle  and  the  Causey— the  greatest  of  all  his 
works.  As  I  said  before,  there  was  nothing  he  could  not  do,  and 
he  must  be  busy.  Making  things  pleased  him  best,  unless  he  had 
a  great  job  of  fighting  to  do — for  that  he  would  leave  anything 
else  undone;  and  he  never  had  to  fight  on  his  own  account,  for 
he  never  had  an  enemy.  When  he  felt  called  upon  to  thrash  a 
set  of  fellows  for  bad  manners,  or  cruelty  to  any  of  the  ould 
stock,  when  he'd  see  them  sprawling,  bleeding  and  screaming, 
his  big  heart  was  so  tender  that  he  would  run  to  their  relief,  raise 
them  up,  bring  them  water,  and  handle  them  as  tenderly  as  a 
mother  would  her  infant.  Who  could  be  the  enemy  of  such  a 
man  ?  If  anybody  could,  he  must  be  a  budagh,  heart  and  sowl, 
every  inch  of  him. 

Like  every  other  Irishman,  Finn  would  go  courting  every  purty 
girl  he  met;  and  then,  as  well  as  now,  wherever  you  turned  there 
they  were— God  bless  them — like  daisies  in  spring,  blushing  be- 
fore you.  Of  course  this  was  dangerous  ground  for  Finn.  The 
wise  old  people  would  often  say  to  him,  "  Take  care  of  your 
heart,  Finn."  "  Arrah,  be  aisy,"  he  would  reply,  "sure  I  have 
it  in  a  strong  box  !"  If  he  had,  the  key  was  found,  and  quickly 
too.  Wan  beautiful  summer  day,  a  holiday  it  was,  Finn  met  the 
"  flower  of  the  glen,"  as  she  was  called,  Shelah  O'Donnell,  com- 
ing from  Mass.  Maybe  he  had  forgot  the  strong  box  that  morn- 
ing; anyway  his  heart  was  lost,  and  found  by  Shelah  O'Donnell, 
and  not  being  accustomed  to  live  without  his  heart,  he  kept  as 
near  it  as  possible,  till  Shelah  consented,  you  know,  and  the  sog- 
garth  made  the  two  into  wan. 

And  Shelah  made  a  man  of  him  all  out.  There  was  no  more 
fighting  for  fun  with  Finn,  and  games  that  used  to  take  up  half 
his  time.  Everything  he  did  now  must  have  Shelah's  approval; 
and  her  approval,  he  had  good  sense  to  see,  was  the  best  security 
he  could  have  for  the  thing  being  right.  It  was  not  by  scolding 
or  growling  she  made  this  impression  on  Finn;  her  loud  word  was 


240  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

never  heard,  outside  or  inside.  Shclah  was  a  pattern  for  her 
countrywomen,  or  women  anywhere.  All  Fmn's  time  wr.s  em- 
ployed doing  good,  in  improving  the  condition  of  his  countrymen 
in  every  way.  Sure  it  was  he  that  first  showed  them  how  to 
weave  and  to  play  all  sorts  of  music.  He  showed  them  how  to 
make  looms,  and  left  for  a  pattern  a  loom  set  up  at  the  end  of 
the  Causey  if  they  should  forget  the  best  shapes  of  a  first-rate  one. 
But  his  teaching  in  this  way  'ill  never  be  forgotten.  He  showed 
his  friends— and  all  were  his  friends— how  everything  should  be 
done  with  the  linen,  for  it  grew  on  the  field  till  it  appeared  on 
the  green  whiter  than  the  new-fallen  snow.  If  you  look  round 
you  anywhere  in  Ulster,  you  will  see  proof  galore  that  his  teach- 
ing has  been  well-remembered.  He  could  play,  as  I  have  said, 
all  sorts  of  instniments.  When  he  took  up  the  fiddle,  all  for 
miles  round  found  life  and  action  in  their  heels,  and  the  boys  and 
girls  in  Argyleshire  migjit  be  seen,  of  a  clear  evening,  footing  it 
away  like  fun,  so  loud  and  clear  were  the  tones  of  his  fiddle;  and 
there  was  no  instrument  he  couldn't  make,  from  a  plow  to  an 
organ,  and  lor  that  the  way  to  make  this  grand  instrument  ;  and 
fearing  it  should  be  forgotten  when  he  was  gone,  he  built  a  pat- 
tern of  his  nev/  improved  one  near  the  end  of  the  Causey,  as  well 
as  of  his  loom,  as  may  be  seen  to  this  hour.* 

Well,  of  course  his  biggest  job  of  all  was  the  Causey.  ■>  But  I 
must  tell  you  how  he  came  to  make  it.  There  was  a  giant  on 
the  other  side  of  the  water,  a  great  bare-leggit  Heelin-man,  that 
had  a  great  loud  voice,  that  used  to  shout  across  at  Finn:  "  If  I 
was  ower  there,  I  would  take  the  cruceness  out  you.  I  would  gle 
ye  sich  a  lickin'  as  you  would  ne'er  forget."  Many  a  time  he 
tould  Shelah  about  this.  But  her  advice  was  to  him:  "Finn, 
agrah,  never  mind  the  budagh.  Of  course  you  know  you  could 
lick  him  in  ten  minutes  any  day  of  the  week.  You  can  afford  to 
let  the  cock  crow  on  his  own  dung  hill."  Finn  saw  the  truth  of 
all  she  said.  He,  as  he  said  himself,  had  nothing  to  gain  by 
lickin'    a  Scotchman. 

*  Few,  we  should  say,  of  those  who  visit  the  Giaiit'i  "  Caiiscy"  arc  allowed 
by  the  guide  to  pass  unnoticed  "  the  giant's  loom"  or  "  the  giant's  organ." 


A  TALE  OF  OTHER  DAYS.  241 

However,  as  I  have  said  before,  Finn  was  every  inch  an  Irish- 
man ;  and  one  day  the  Heelin-man  shouted  so  long  and  so  loud 
that  P'inn  lost  all  patience,  and  before  he  let  the  sun  go  down  he 
commenced  to  build  the  Causey,  to  let  the  Scotchman  across,  that 
he  might  give  him  a  useful  lesson,  just  to  improve  his  manners — a 
service  he  had  done  a  few  other  Scotchmen,  as  I  have  already 
tould  ye.  Whether  they  were  thankful  I  won't  tell  you.  Any- 
way, it  seemed  from  the  improvement  in  their  manners  to  have 
done  them  a  power  of  good;  and  one  thing  is  quite  certain,  it  did 
Finn  himself  a  great  deal  of  good.  Often  he  was  heard  to  say 
that  of  all  the  refreshments  he  ever  tried,  the  real  mountain  dew 
was  the  best;  and  that  to  this  he  made  only  one  exception,  and 
that  was,  when  the  chance  came  hij  way,  the  pleasure  of  lickin' 
a  Scotchman.     He  felt  the  benefit,  he  said,  of  that  for  months. 

Well,  as  I  have  already  tould  you,  he  commenced  the  Causey, 
to  let  this  bad-mannered  Scotchman  get  across.  Well,  the  day 
after  it  was  finished  Finn  was  on  the  look-out  for  the  Heelin-man 's 
movements,  and  he  was  not  long  looking  when  he  saw  the  bould 
fellow  fairly  started,  with  his  kilt  above  his  knee;  for  the  Scotch 
end  of  the  Causey  was  not  above  the  surface,  like  the  Irish  end — 
which  was  intended  for  ornament,  or  to  show  his  countrymen 
what  good  or  everlasting  work  should  be^and  there  it's  for  a  pat- 
tern till  this  day.  Well,  between  the  depth  of  the  water — over 
mid-leg — and  the  caution  required  to  keep  on  the  Causey,  Finn 
was  able  to  see  the  shape  and  size  of  the  fellow  without  being 
seen  himself  When  he  saw  of  him  all  he  wanted  to  see  just  then, 
he  went  to  have  a  talk  with  Shelah,  to  tell  her  the  Scotchman 
was  coming  across. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  him  ?"  said  Shelah. 

"Faith,"  said  Finn,  "Shelah  agra,  I  don't  like  his  looks  at 
all  at  all.  He's  a  terrible  baste  of  a  fellow.  In  all  ray  bom  days 
Pnever  saw  such  a  busthoge  of  a  Scotchman.  If  I  hadn't  better 
work  to  do,  I  might  make  a  small  fortune,  after  thrashing  him, 
by  making  a  show  of  him  from  town  to  town  in  his  tartans.  But 
I  mustn't — for  the  credit  of  the  ould  country  I  can't  do  this.  I 
must  only  lick  him  and  send  him  home  again,  as  soon  as  he  is 


242  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

able  to  go.  So,  Shelah,  I  have  no  choice  as  to  what  I'm  to  do 
with  this  Sawney  More  (or  biy  Alicli),  as  they  call  him  at  home 
in  his  own  country.  Thrashing  him  'ill  no  te  a  small  jdb.  Of 
course  I  can  do  't;  but  it  would  be  as  easy  to  thrash  all  the  com 
from  Uunluce  to  Ballycastle." 

After  thmking  in  her  own  cool,  aisy  way,  Shelah  said: 
"Couldn't  he  be  sent  back  without  taking  all  that  trouble  with 
him  ?  If  you  lave  it  to  me  I  think  I  can  manage  it  for  you.  Go 
you  out  and  see  if  he's  coming  and  near,  and  come  in  and  tell 
me,  and  I'll  tell  what  to  do." 

"  In  troth  and  I  will,"  said  Finn,  "  for  I  never  yet  was  sorry 
for  doing  what  ye  tould  me." 

Finn  went  out,  and  behold  ye,  the  Scotchman  was  on  the  Irish 
shore,  wringing  some  of  the  water  out  of  his  tartans,  to  be  as 
daicent  looking  as  he  could  before  he  would  go  up  to  Finn's 
house  before  the  quality,  he  said^  Finn  went  back  to  hear  what 
Shelah  had  to  say,  and  her  directions  to  Finn  were  to  lie  down  in 
a  big  cradle  he  had  made  years  before  for  twins  that  at  their 
birth  promised  that  they  would  be  bigger  than  ever  their  father 
was.  Finn  was  determined,  as  he  said,  to  give  tliem  room 
enough  to  grow,  and  he  made  it  so  large  that  he  could  himself 
lie  in  it  full  stretch,  ju^t  as  Shelah  tould  him  to  do  now,  and  when 
"he  was  in  it  she  tould  him  what  to  do  when  Sawney  More  would 
come. 

Finn  was  not  long  in  the  cradle  when  Sawney  arrived,  and  he 
walked  in  saying,  "  Gude  e'en  be  here."  Of  course  Shelah 
bade  him  sit  down,  and  treated  him  to  the  best  in  the  house  for 
the  honor  of  the  ould  country.  Well,  when  he  had  Shelah's 
bread,  butter,  and  eggs  before  him,  he  set  to  as  if  he  had  been 
fasting  a  fortnight  or  so  for  good  of  his  sowl,  but  he  kejjt  pack- 
ing away  so  long  and  so  determinedly  that  she  began  to  fear  he 
wouldn't  be  able  to  get  away  without  help.  However,  fliere  is 
a  limit  to  all  things,  even  to  the  cravings  of  the  maw  of  a  Scotch- 
man. Sawney,  as  he  said,  "  fun  himself  at  length  well-crammed." 
Then  he  turned  to  the  fire  and  brought  out  his  dndheen  for  a 
smoke;  and  then,  too,   Finn  raised  his  great  head  of  hair  and 


A   TALE    OF   OTHER    DAYS.  243 

beard,  such  as  Savvney  never  saw  before.  Finn  called  out  in  his 
loudest  voice,  "  Mother,  I  want  something  to  ate,  and  I  am  sure 
that  great  baste  of  a  Scotchman  has  aten  up  all  the  ready  mate  in 
the  house.  I  watched  him,  bad  luck  to  the  baste;  but  wait  to 
my  father  comes  in,  and  I'll  tell  him  all  about  it." 

As  soon  as  Savvney  found  breath  to  speak,  he  shouted,  "Gude 
save  us,  is  that  the  bairn  ?     And  sick  a  bairn  !" 

"Indeed  it's  my  youngest,  and  a  troublesome  bouchal  he  is." 
Then  she  said,  "  Whisht  avic,  and  I'll  get  you  plenty  very  soon. 
Bedehust  and  sleep."  But  Sawney  could  think  of  nothing  but 
the  "awfau  bairn."  At  length  he  said,  "The  father  o'  that 
ane's  nae  chicken." 

"  Indeed  an'  you  may  say  so,"  said  Shelah.  "  Yonarecoteidered 
a  big  fellow,  and  no  doubt  you  are,  among  your  aen  folk,  as  you 
say,  but  when  I  saw  you  coming  in  the  door  there,  you  come  in 
with  your  big  Highland  bonnet  on,  and  you  might  have  had  a 
man  standing  on  your  shoulders  and  walked  in  without  any  diffi- 
culty. I  thought  of  Finn,  who  always  has  to  take  his  hat  off,  and 
stoop,  too,  before  he  can  come  in." 

"Well,  well,"  said  Sawney,  "  he  maun',  frae  a'  I  bae  heard 
and  seen,  be  nane  of  the  chiels  o'  last  year's  growth,  but  a  want- 
ed to  see  him  jest  in  a  frecndly  way,  ye  ken.  A  like  to  make 
freens  where'er  a  gang,  and  a  see,  clear  enough,  it  would  be  bet- 
ter to  be  your  gude  man's  freen  nor  his  enemy;  but  ouy  wiy,  I 
maun  be  gangin.  Tell  the  gude  man  a'll  come  to  visit  him  some 
other  day." 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry,"  said  Shelah,  "  in  one  way,  you're  gc«agso 
soon,  but  in  another  I'm  not  sorry.  That  child,"  she  said,  polating 
to  the  cradle,  "  is  very  hard  to  manage,  and  the  worst  of  it  is,  his 
father  will  hear  no  complaint  against  him;  but  he  listens  to  all 
his,  as  if  it  was  the  priest  at  the  altar,  and  when  he  thinks  the 
bouchal  has  been  wronged  in  any  way,  he's  neither  to  ho+vld  nor 
to  bind.  Whoever  he  believes  has  wronged  him  suffers,  I  can 
tell  you.  I  could  not  tell  you  what  complaint  he  mightn't  make 
against  you  for  eating  all  the  bread  and  butter  and  lavin'  him  to 
starve;    and,  tliough  no  Irishman  was  ever  civiler  or  kinder  to 


244  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

strangers  than  Finn,  if  a  complaint  came  from  his  pet — thebouchal 
there — he'd  forget  all  his  other  good,  kind  feelings  for  a  good 
long  hour  anyway,  and  by  that  lime  there  would  be  few  whole 
bones  in  your  body." 

"  Gude  preserve  us,"  said  Sawney  More,  "I'm glad  you  toul' 
me  in  time.     I  hope  he'll  not  be  here  soon." 

"  I'll  take  care,"  said  Shelah,  "  that  you'll  get  off  safely.  I'll 
keep  a  look-out  for  his  coming.  I  know  the  way  he'll  come,  and, 
when  I  see  him,  I'll  go  to  meet  him.  On  the  way  to  the  house 
he'll  have  a  great  deal  to  tell  me  that  will  take  time;  anyway, 
I'll  take  care  to  delay  him  long  enough  to  let  you  get  safe  off." 

By  this  time  Sawney  was  ready  for  the  road — ready  to  make  the 
best  use  of  his  long  legs.  He  was  soon  outside  the  door,  where, 
for  a  wonder,  he  took  the  time  to  say,  "Gude  e'en.  A'll  aye 
be  thankfou  to  you,  gude  wife,  when  I'm  far  awa.  Ye  hae  been 
a  true  freen  tae  me." 

Wliat  was  the  story  he  tould  when  he  got  back  again  I  can- 
not tell  you,  but  he  was  the  first  and  the  last  Scotchman  that  ever 
ventured  on  the  Causey. 


WHAT  MR,    MAGUIRE  SAW  IN  THE  KITCHEN.  245 


WHAT    MR.   MAGUIRE    SAW    IN   THE 
KITCHEN. 


Mrs.  Maguire,  wife  of  Denny  Maguire,  of  the  Kilshane  Arms, 
had  retired  to  rest.  The  church  bell  was  tolling  eleven  when 
she  took  a  last  look  at  the  room  and  quenched  the  candle.  It 
was  Saturday  night,  and  Denis,  according  to  immemorial  custom, 
had  remained  in  the  parlor  to  contribute  his  wit  and  jocularity 
to  the  conversation  of  a  few  friends  who  had  returned  from  a 
christening,  and  slipped  into  the  Arms  to  spend  an  hour  until 
midnight.  The  courtesy  of  her  husband  was  but  ill-approved  by 
Mrs.  Maguire,  who  entertained  a  vague  suspicion  that  the  house 
was  haunted  by  the  fairies,  or  descendants  of  fairies,  who  formerly 
occupied  the  rath  on  which  the  Kilshane  Arms  was  built.  Her 
fears,  it  is  only  just  to  admit,  had  some  foundation.  Night  after 
night,  when  every  one  was  in  bed,  and  only  Bill,  the  watch-dog, 
was  up  and  abroad,  supernatural  noises  proceeded  from  the  kitchen. 
Now  there  came  a  sharp  clatter,  as  if  jugs,  and  plates,  and  delft 
tea-pots  had  come  to  grief  in  a  simultaneous  collision ;  and  anon 
a  jingling  which  foreboded  destruction  to  every  wine-glass,  tum- 
bler and  decanter  on  the  dresser.  Denis  had  repeatedly  listened 
with  eyes  a-stare,  and  mouth  open,  to  those  supernatural  raani- 
festations,  but,  however  alarmed  he  felt,  he  arlways  conbivod  to 
allay  his  wife's  apprehensions  by  such  exclamations  as — "  Musha, 
the  dickens  take  that  cat !"  or,  "  Will  them  mice  never  be  aisy  ?" 
Consoled  by  the  practical  philosophy  of  such  words,  Mrs.  Maguire 
would  draw  a  long  sigh,  insinuate,  in  her  blandest  tones,  that 
"luck  never  came  of  meddling  with  the  good  people,"  and  so 
commit  herself  to  the  heaven  of  sleep. 

The  church  clock  stnick  three,  and  Mis.   Maguire  awoke. 


246  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"Much  she  marvelled,"  as  the  oil  ballai  has  it,  that  Denis 
should  have  prolonged  his  caroasals  to  so  unseasonable  an  hour. 
Her  astonishment  was  increased  when,  on  listening  attentively, 
till  the  silence  tingled  in  her  ears,  she  could  not  catch  the  sound 
of  a  single  voice  or  the  jingle  of  a  solitary  glass  from  the  room  in 
which  she  had  left  the  revellei-s.  To  arise,  to  light  a  candle, 
and  descend  the  stairs  in  search  of  Denis,  was  but  the  work  of  a 
few  moments.  On  reaching  the  ground  floor,  what  was  her  sur- 
prise to  find  that  individual,  with  his  back  propped  up  against 
the  kitchen  door,  his  head  sunken  on  his  chest,  and  a  broken 
pipe  scattered  in  fragments  by  his  side,  seated  fast  asleep  on  the 
ground. 

"Dinis,"  she  exclaimed,  "  Dinis,  get  up  iv  ye've  any  shame 
left,  ye  flamin'  drunkard;"  and  with  these  words  she  seized  him 
by  the  collar,  and  gave  him  one  of  those  shakes  with  which  a 
mastiff  sometimes  honors  a  spaniel. 

Denis  lazily  opened  his  eyes,  and  rapidly  reclosed  them.  "  I 
consint,"  he  muttered,  "  I  consint,  though  it  goes  hard  aginst 
me,  mind  yez." 

"  Musha,  alanna,  do  ye  hear  him  ?  the  unforthinate  man  that 
has  no  more  business  takin'  a  dhrop  than  an  omadhaun  !  Con- 
sint, yerra  !  come,  come,  ye'll  get  yer  death  o'  could,  sittin*  here, 
you  foolish  crathur." 

Denis  received  a  duplicate  of  the  first  shrug,  and  again  un- 
closed his  eyes.  "Didn't  I  tell  yez,"  he  exclaimed,  with  no 
small  show  of  bitterness — "  didn't  I  tell  yez  that  I  consintixl  ?  And 
what  more  does  yez  want.  Ai !  ai !  gour  that,  you  desaver,"  he 
continued,  addressmg  his  wife,  who  was  suddenly  startled  by  his 
altered  manner.  "  Be  off  wid  yer,  ould  man — do;  have  yer 
choice,  an'  more  luck  to  yez.  Arrah,  what  kem  acrass  yez,  that 
yez  didn't  fut  it  to  the  North  Pole,  ai  ?" 

"  Oh,  then,  what  is  he  dhramin'  of?"  asked  Mrs.  Maguire,  in 
a  voice  of  tremulous  expostulation,  ''who  is  tbe  ould  man,  and 
what  is  he  sayin'  ?  Lord  betune  us  an'  hnrm  iv  the  North 
Pole  !  He's  crackt,  crackt  entirely,  so  he  is,"  and  she  raised  her 
hastily -donned  gown  to  her  eyes,  and  began  crying. 


WHAT  MR.    MAGUIRS  SAW  IN  THE  KITCHEN.  247 

*'  I'll  "bell  it  all  over  the  parish,"  groaned  Denis,  who  now  sat 
more  upright,  and  was,  to  all  appearances,  rational  enough. 
"  Show  yer  nose  at  the  cross  if  yez  dare,  and  there's  not  a  girl 
from  the  post-office  to  the  tay-shop,  but'll  pin  a  tin  kittle  to  yer 
tail,  da-a-rlint!" 

"Oh,  thin,  Dinis,  Dinis,  alanna." 

"  Noneo'  yer  Dinises  tome,"  screamed  Mr.  Maguire.  "  Hould 
yer  tongue,  yeh,  yeh — gour  that,  I  tell  yez,"  and  he  shot  his 
fist  fiercely  at  his  wife, 

"  Come  out  iv  this,  Dinis,  dear,  and  don'tbe  ravin'  like  a  mad- 
man— come." 

"  Yis,  av  coorse;  cock  yez  up,  ai !  Arrah,  then,  maybe  I  be 
bowld  to  ask  yez  where's  the  little  lord,  ai  ? — the  nate  little  lord, 
with  the  hump  betune  his  shoulders,  and  the  hape  of  a  pimple  on 
his  nose  ?  Be  the  mortial  frost,  but  yez  was  a  purty  pair,  wasn't 
yez?  Lave  the  house  this  minit,  and  be  off  wid  'im;  lave  the 
house,  and  never  darken  the  doore  again." 

*'  Dinis,  darlint,  ah,  thin,  what's  comin'  over  yez,  to  thrate  me 
in  this  way,"  sobbed  Mrs.  Maguire,  as  she  retreated  from  her 
husband,  who  compelled  her,  with  repeated  threats,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  door, 

"Will  yez  be  off,  or  say  yez  won't;  will  yez?" 

"I'll  do  anything,  Dinis,  to  plaze  yez." 

"Thin  show  us  your  back,  and  keep  yer  face  to  yerself  till 
'tis  wanted.  Out  wid  yez— out  wid  yez,"  and  so  saying,  Mr. 
Maguire  ejected  his  wife  over  the  threshold  into  the  village  street. 

*'Ye'll  be  sorry  for  this,  Dinis,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Maguire, 
turning  back  for  a  moment. 

"Will  yez  take  yerself  to  the  lordheen?"  replied  Dinis; 
"shure,  he'll  want  some  one  to  straighten  his  hump  for  him,  and 
who'd  do  it  better  nor  his  wife,  ai,  my  jewel  ?" 

"  The  Lord  forgive  yez,  Dinis." 

"  That's  more  than  yez  desarve  yerself,  at  any  rate.  Top  o' 
the  mornin'  to  yez,"  and,  with  this  polite  wish,  Mr.  Maguire 
closed  the  door  and  disappeared. 

Mrs.  Maguire,  completely  mystified  by  her  husband's  conduct, 


248  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

and  wondering  what  serious  change  could  have  deprived  -her  in 
one  night  of  the  burthen  of  his  affections,  turned  into  the  house  of 
a  neighbor,  and  seated  herself  dejectedly  on  a  three-legged  stool, 
or  "creepeen,"  by  the  side  of  the  turf  fire.  She  wtis  rocking 
herself  to  and  fro  uneasily,  whilst  her  tears  came  thick  and  fast 
and  her  sobs  almost  choked  her,  when  the  mistress  of  tte  house, 
Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy,  returned  from  the  bawn  and  discovered  her. 

"  Why,  thin,  Mrs.  Maguire,  is  it  yourselfs  afarc  me?  Oh! 
the  poor  woman  cryin',  I  declare  cryin' !  Why,  tWn,  is  there 
anything  gone  wrong  over  the  way?" 

"Himself — 'tis  himself!"  groaned  Mrs.  Maguire. 

"Himself,  jewel!  Arrah,  thim  min  are  alwuys  crazy  when 
they  take  a  drop  or  two  over  night,  and  'tis  a  fool  ud  mind  ''em. 
My  jintleman  '11  miss  you  afore  'tis  dark,  believe  me.  He  didn't 
bate  yez,  did  he  ? " 

"No,  Mistress  Shaughnessy,  I'll  be  bowld,  he  dida'L  He  sez 
to  me,  sez  he,  go  off  wid  your  lordheen,  for  a  bite  or  sup  ye'U 
never  take  agin  wid  me,  sez  he." 

"  A  lordheen,  inagh.  Gondoutha,  what  put  that  in  his  head,  I 
wondher ?" 

"Thim  faries,  the  sarra  shoot  thim,"  replied  Mrs.  Maguire. 
"  Shure  I  often  said,  if  he  had  luck  or  gract^he'd  lave  'em  alone, 
and  not  be  meddlin'  or  makin'  with  thim  that  didn^t  consam 
him." 

Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  looked  mysterious,  and  shook  her  head 
in  token  of  assent.  "Thim  ould  places  doesn't  answer  Chris- 
tians, anyhow.  I  wouldn't  sod  a  lark  out  iv  'era  if  there  wasn't 
another  green  spot  in  the  barony.  Here,  lave  off  now,  for  there's 
the  min  comin'  to  breakfast,  and  we'll  have  our  tay  when  they 
shows  their  backs,  so  we  will." 

Somewhat  cheered  by  the  prospect  of  the  non -inebriating  cup, 
Mrs.  Maguire  hastened  to  indulge  hersorrows-in  the  privacy  of  an 
inner  room.  The  lalx>rers  soon  arrived,  and  she  listened  intently 
to  their  conversation,  in  order  to  satisfy  herself  that  the  scandal  of 
which  she  was  the  victim  had  not  spread  through  the  village. 
Nothing  occurred  to  alarm  her,  however,  until  one  of  the  men. 


WHAT  MR.    MAGUIRE  SAW  IN  THE  KITCHEN.  249 

whose  mouth,  judging  from  the  thickness  of  his  articolatien,  was 
embarrassed  by  the  presence  of  a  lumper,  exclaimed: 

"Dick  Boulster  was  done  out  of  his  sudden  death,*  this 
momin',  sure,  and  sorra  the  one  could  spake  to  him,  he  was  so 
down  m  the  mouth. ' ' 

"Begor,"  remarked  another  voice,  "he  must  be  gom'  to  the 
wall  entirely,  when  he'd  pass  by  Dinny  Maguire's  without  pay- 
ing his  respects  to  the  native. ' ' 

"Faith  its  toight  enough  wid  him,"  observed  a  man  with  a 
north  Tipperary  accent.  "  Didn't  we  see  him  on  Friday,  stand- 
ing on  one  fut  at  Mick  Lalor's  bulk,  whilst  he  was  gettin'  a 
thieveenf  on  the  other?" 

"He  has  a  gre.it  back  in'America,  dough,"  said  a  man,  with 
an  exceedingly  weak  organ.  "  De  girls  send  home  hapes  o' 
money — I  wish  he  was  tirty  pounds  in  my  books  di?  morning." 

"Musha,  talk  sinse, "  exclaimed  the  first  speaker,  "an  don't 
be  runnin  away  wed  yourselves,  like  goms;]:  1  tdl  yez  that  the 
raisin  he  hadn't  his  dhrop  is  bekase  he  couldn't  get  it,  and  the 
raisin  he  couldn't  get  it  is,  bekase  Dinny  wouldn't  open  the  doore, 
he's  getting  so  holy,  gondoutha  /" 

A  roar  of  laughter  succeeded  the  sarcastic  comment  implied  in 
the  last  observation.  The  men  soon  afterwards  rose  and  left  the 
house,  and  Mrs.  Maguire  was  preparing  to  emerge  from  her  hid- 
ing, when  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  exclaimed,  in  a  half  whisper: 

"Be  as  mute  as  a  mouse,  for  himself  is  comin'  up  the  pad- 
dock." 

"For  the  love  of  God  don't  say  I'm  here,  or  there'll  be  ruc- 
tions till  Michaelmas!'' 

"  Aisy,  now  be  aisy,  till  we  hears  what  he  sez  for  himself.  Be 
quiet,  alanna,  and  who  knows  but  it's  all  for  the  best." 

So  saying,  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  threw  herself  into  a  posture  of 
affected  inattention,  and  was  merrily  humming  a  milking  song, 
when  Dennis  Maguire  entered  the  house,  looking  pale  and 
haggard. 

*  Glass  of  raw  whisky,     t  Patch  of  leather.     X  Fools. 


250  THE   ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"God  bless  all  here!"  he  said,  with  a  slight  quaver  in  his 
voice. 

*'  And  you  too,  Dinis.     How's  all  at  home  wid  yez?" 

"  Purty  middlin',  begor;  we  can't  complain,  ma'am." 

*'  Won't  yez  sit  down  and  rest  yerself,  Dinis?"  said  the  lady, 
driving  the  cat  from  a  hay-bottomed  chair,  and  handing  it  to  the 
visitor.     "  Is  herself  fine  and  strongly  ?" 

Dennis  groaned.  •'  Consamin'  her,  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy,  I'm 
afeerd  I've  put  my  fut  in  it." 

♦'  Fut,  agra  !  that's  a  quare  thing  !" 

"  Mortial  quare,  ma'am,  intirely.  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy,  I'm 
the  manest,  ungratefulcst  baste  in  crayation." 

"Is  the  man  dhramin' wid  his  eyes  open ?"  asked  the  good 
woman,  suspending  the  operation  of  washing  a  butter  tub,  and 
looking  at  the  speaker. 

"Faith,  they're  open  wide  enough  now,  ma'am.  If  you 
saw  thim  this  nioniin'  airly,  'tisn't  that  ye'd  say,  I  be  bail." 

"  Cobwebs,  after  the  night,  yez  mane?" 

"  Dust,  ma'am — fairy  dust  that  tuk  away  my  five  sinses  to  the 
other  world,  and  put  me  beyant  meself,  and  made  me  turn  Biddy 
out  o'  doors — made  a  pote — a  rale,  live  pote  o'  me  intirely, 
ma'am !" 

"  The  dickens  take  it,  sure  yez  wasn't  as  bad  as  all  that, 
Dinis  ?  Pote,  inagh.  Shure  thim  niver  has  wives  or  houses,  and 
yez  has  both,  God  bless  'em  !" 

"And  I  don't  desarve  'em,  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy,  for  I'm  a 
baste,  and  no  mistake,  to  turn  out  that  kind-hearted  crathur  on 
the  cowld  world,  without  a  bit  o'  breakfast  or  a  tester  in  her 
pocket,  av  a  momin'  airly;"  and  so  affected  was  the  speaker  by 
the  pathos  of  his  own  discourse,  that  he  buried  his  face  between 
his  hands  and  wept  audibly.  Mrs.  Maguire,  who  was  a  breathless 
listener  to  all  that  passed,  in  the  next  room,  imitated  his  example 
with  that  rare  facility  for  which  the  female  eye-ducts  are  cele- 
brated; but  she  took  care  to  drown  her  sobs  in  the  folds  of  her 
cloak,  lest  her  grief  should  betray  her. 

"Tut,  tut,  man,  come,  don't  be  killin'  yerself  that  way,"  in- 


WHAT  MR,    MAGUIRE  SAW  IN  THE  KITCHEN.  251 

sisted  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy,  in  a  voice  of  the  kindest  sympathy. 
••The  thruest  couple  on  the  face  iv  the  earth  will  have  their 
thrials  and  fallin'-outs.  But,  Dinis,  I'm  complately  bothered  to 
make  out  the  raisin  that  came  over  yez,  all  of  a  hape,  to  mal- 
tlireat  poor  Biddy.     Was  she  throublesome  ?" 

•'  Herself  throublesome !  An  angel  playin'  on  a  harp  o'  goold 
isn't  her  aiquil  for  civility,  ma'am.  Oh,  that  dhrame,  that 
dhran>€  !" 

'•What  dhrame?"  asked  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy. 

"Musha,  sit  down,  and  ye'll  hear  the  whole  of  it." 

Mra.  O'Shaughnessy  followed  the  direction,  and,  after  many 
ifttrodnctory  "  hems  "  and  "  haws,"  and  several  apparently  inef- 
fectual efforts  to  clear  his  throat,  Dennis  began  : 

"  You  must  know,  ma'am,  that  last  niglit,  it  being  Sathurday, 
two  o'  the  boys  dropped  in,  betther  nor  an  hour  afore  midnight, 
to  have  a  weeny  dhrop  afore  they  should  lave  for  home.  My 
mimory  may  disavc  me  (that's  an  ould  thrick  wid  it),  but  I'd  be 
afeered  to  say  that  I  tuk  more  nor  six  or  seven  glasses  with  a  dash 
o'  spring  water  in  each  iv  'em,  to  cool  them  a  bit,  you  know. 
Ilowsomever,  the  boys  went,  and  I  barred  the  doore,  and  I  tuk 
the  candle  from  the  hob,  and,  just  as  I  put  my  foot  on  the  first 
step,  what  do  you  consave  I  should  hear  but  the  rattlin'  and  tearin' 
of  spoons,  the  new  spoons  we  bought  at  the  pattern  iv  Bmff, 
and  the  greatest  divarsion  of  cut  glass  in  the  kitchen !  Well, 
my  hair  stood  on  an  end,  like  a  shafe  of  bulrushes,  and  my 
knees  knocked  together  for  all  the  world  like  a  pair  o'  dale  clap- 
pers. *What  does  that  mean,  at  all,  at  all?'  sez  I,  to  meself. 
Nobody  answered,  av  coorsc,  but,  instead  o'  that,  the  glasses, 
man  alive,  fell  to  rattlin'  agin  and  agin,  and  the  spoons  fell  to 
kicking  up  the  most  unmarciful  ructions.  As  I  was  sayin',  I 
■cocked  my  ear  like  a  hare,  and  hearkened  to  the  fun  that  was 
goin'  on  inside,  and  all  at  wanst  I  heard  an  ould  man  coughin' 
and  crowin',  and  three  or  four  more  ould  men,  too,  I  be  bail, 
laughin'  as  if  they'd  split  their  siJes  with  the  divarsion.  I  tuk 
my  fut  off  the  stairs,  and  the  kitchen  door  bein'  a  taste  open,  I 
clapped  my  eye  to  it  and  looked  in.     Holy  jewel,  if  you  saw 


352  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

tMm  I  A  lump  of  mate,  with  a  double  hedge  of  yellow  fat — a 
lump  you  couldn't  cram  into  a  skiagh,  was  on  the  table  ;  one 
ould  man  stood  forninst  me,  dressed  in  blue  knee-breeches,  and 
■whited  darned  stockings,  and  a  rale  swallow-tail  wid  goold  but- 
tons,  shinin'  like  a  clane  candlestick,  and  a  hat  for  all  the  world 
like  Tom  Lacy's  caubogue,  only  it  was  turned  up  at  the  sides; 
his  white  hair  was  all  rolled  up  in  a  ball  with  a  skiver  stuck  be- 
hind in  it ;  and  he  had  a  bottle  of  the  best  Jameson's  (two  shil- 
lings, and  every  farthen  iv  it,  a  pint)  to  his  mouth,  guttlin*  away, 
ma'am,  as  iv  he'd  swallow Poul-a-phouca,  the  Lord  save  us!  Be- 
tune  him  and  I  there  was  a  laddo  upon  one  knee,  decantin'  a  bot- 
tk  iv  somethin'  or  another,  like  the  big  bottle  in  Dr.  Sloane's 
window;  this  laddo  wore  boots  up  to  his  knees,  and  such  a  cam- 
bric handkercher  ondernathe  his  ould  chin  !  The  fire  was  blazin' 
betuae  the  hobs,  as  if  they  were  bint  on  manufactherin'  an  anvil, 
and  foruLnst  it  was  sated  an  ould  codger,  wid  a  jug  of  hot  punch 
in  his  hand,  and  snappin'  away  wid  his  fingers,  like  wildfire,  to 
the  chune  o'  the  '  Limerick  Lasses.'  The  flure  was  all  a  spread 
of  rale  chamey,  and  la.->hins  o'  fecdm',  ham,  and  pork,  and  beef, 
and  cabbage,  and  mate  o'  that  sort.  But  what  opened  my  eyes, 
intirely,  intirely,  was  a  murtherin'  queer  thmg  betune  a  frog  and 
a  buttherfly,  fluttherin'  and  flying  around  the  room,  and  divartin' 
himself,  wid  his  legs  up  to  the  ceilin',  as  if  he  was  a  rale  fly. 
Some  o'  the  min  were  cuttin'  capers  in  the  dancin'  way,  wid  the 
wimen.  Arrah,  to  see  thim— such  dandies  as  thmi  was,  wid 
wings,  nioryagfiy  stuck  out  o'  their  shoulders,  and  castles  iv  cock's 
feathers  growin'  out  iv  the  tops  o'  their  heads.  But  'twas  the 
coortin'  and  collogucino*  that  put  me  pipe  out  complately,  for 
there  was  sated  forninst  me  an  ould  buckeen  wid  a  hump  as  big 
as  a  churn  on  his  back,  and  his  old  arm,  if  yez  plaze,  around  a 
young  lady  in  a  high-cauled  cap  and  a  turkey-red  handkercher. 
•  Faith,'  sez  I  to  myself,  '  I'll  have  an  eye  to  yez,  my  darlint, '  and 
so  I  kept  it  on  'em,  until  the  lady  turned  round  her  purty  head, 
and,  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy,  I'll  take  my  book-oath  on't,  the  lady 

♦Whispering. 


WHAT    MR.     MAGUIRE    SAW    IN    THE    KITCHEN.       253 

— the  lady,  mind  yez,  was  (here  the  narrator  spread  out  his  legs, 
twirled  his  thumbs  rapidly,  and  continued  in  a  hoarse  whisper,) 
the  wife  1  Wlien  I  saw  her,  sated  on  the  barrel,  collogueirigwiA. 
the  ould  Cromwellian  of  a  villyan,  I  tried  to  make  a  haul  at  the 
pair,  and  twist  his  head  off  iv  him,  but  the  dickens  resave  the 
step  the  legs  would  go,  and  I  had  to  stand  there  in  the  cowld  like 
a  pilgarlic,  seein'  Biddy  divartin'  herself  wid  the  good  people. 
All.  at  once  the  music  caysed,  and  the  laddo  with  the  skiver  in  his 
head  sez,  sez  he  : 

**  *  That  Maguire  is  the  scum  of  a  vagabond — he's  the  sworn 
inimy  of  the  ould  stock,'  sez  he,  •  an',  if  I  had  my  own  way,  I'd 
open  his  eye  whilst  ye'd  be  sayin'  Jack  Robinson.' 

*• '  Thrue  for  yez,  Harelip,  avic,'  says  the  man  that  was  bot- 
tlin'  the  medicine,  '  ihrue  for  yez, '  sez  he,  '  and  the  pookah  take 
him  an'  his  breed,  an'  every  stick  and  stone  belongin'  to  thim.' 

••  The  laddo  that  was  dancin'  wid  the  paycock  lady  here 
opened  his  mouth,  and  sez  he,  '  Teranages,  but  his  wife's  a  gim, 
a  rale  gim,  and  its  the  dickens  iv  a  shame  that  she  should  be  liv- 
in'  wid  that  monstherosity.  Min,'  sez  he,  to  the  fellows  that 
might  wear  a  tailor's  thimble  for  a  waist-band — '  min,'  sez  he,  '  I 
moves  we  whips  her  off  and  marry  her  to  Lord  Plumtop.' 

"  '  Right,'  sez  Skiver,  'right.  I  was  pondherin  over  that  me- 
self,  and  sorra' betther  way  I  sees,'  sez  he,  'of  punishin'  the 
spalpeen.' 

"Before  that  boy's  tongue  had  time  to  get  into  his  cheek,  the 
humpy  back,  that  was  sittin'  alongside  Biddy,  turns  about,  and 
immegiately  I  got  a  sight  of  a  pinv^ijle  as  red  as  a  bantam's 
comb,  perched  atop  of  his  nose.  '  Have  I  always  thrated  yez  da 
cently  ?'  sez  he. 

"  'Iss,  my  lord,'  says  the  whole  o'  the  pinkeens,  bowin'  and 
scrapin'  until  they'd  pick  a  pin  off  the  flure  with  their  eye-lash- 
ers— '  Iss,  my  lord,'  sez  they. 

"  'Thm,'  sez  he,  'by  the  honor  and  glory  of  the  Plumtops,  I 
swear  on  the  top  and  bottom  iv  the  griddle  to  have  the  gim  for 
myself — I'm  king  o'  the  castle,'  sez  he,  and  the  pimple  grew 
reddher  and  reddher,  '  and  who  dare  rassle  ?' 


254  THE    ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

•"Be  the  hokey,'  says  the  Skiver,  ' my  lord  is  gettin'  as  stiff 
as  Bill  Haly's  dog,  that  swallowed  a  stone  of  starch,  and  a  blue- 
bag,  into  the  bargin.  Yez  may  lead  me,  if  it  plazes  yez,'  sez 
Skiver,  bouldly,  '  but  I'd  see  t!ie  whole  stock  of  yez  hanged, 
dhrawn  and  quarthered,  before  I'm  dhruv.' 

"  The  ould  man  that  was  engravin'  his  shins  afore  the  fire, 
here  got  up,  and  sez  he,  takin'  out  his  handkercher,  '  I  blush  for 
yez.  Skiver,  I  blush  for  yez.  If  yez  have  any  rimnint  of  dacen- 
cy  in  yez,  go  down  on  yer  binded  knees,  and  beg  his  lordship's 
parding.' 

"  Arrah,  woman  alive,  to  hear  Skiver  laughin'  at  that  would 
do  you  good  for  a  Shrovetide.  He  cocked  his  head,  he  cocked  his 
eye,  '  One  man  is  as  good  as  another,'  sez  he,  '  barrin'  he's  a  lord 
or  a  duke — begor,  barrin'  he's  an  earl,  for  all  that.  And  if  his 
lordship,'  sez  he,  standin'  on  his  toes,  and  lookin'  down  on  Plum- 
top,  'sez  to  the  conthrary,  let  him  keep  on  his  jacket  and  I'll 
dust  it  for  him.' 

"Plumtop,  heerin'  iv  the  discoorse,«tuk  a  pinch  o'  Cork  snufT, 
and  when  the  sneezin'  was  over,  he  sez,  '  Siiiver,  are  yez  bint 
{ash-tkee,  the  sneezin'  wasn't  over),  are  yez  bint  on  kickin'  up  a 
rucshin  in  my  dominions  ?  Yer  pinance  is,'  sez  he,  '  to  go  down 
on  yer  (ash-thee,  ash-thee) — that  snuff  is  murtherin'  strong — yer 
four  ugly  bones,  and  all  the  min  and  wimen  in  the  rath  walk 
over  yer  ugly  carcass.' 

"  Up  jumps  Biddy,  as  live  as  a  lark,  my  dear,  and  sez  she,  '  If 
thrubble's  about  me,  put  an  ind  to  it,  for  I'm  promised  to  Lord 
Plumtop  here,  an'  I  wouldn't  change  my  mind  for  the  best  gro- 
cery m  Caherconlish,'  and  sayin'  this,  she  turned  up  her  mouth 
and  kissed  the  pimple  on  the  lord's  nose,  begor — may  I  never  see 
another  Sunday,  but  she  did. 

"  'Stand  out,'  sez  Skiver,  squarin'  his  fists  for  the  divarshin. 
"If  I'm  to  be  thrated  like  a  baste,  I'll  be  a  baste,'  and  wid  that 
he  up  wid  his  fist  and  knocked  down  the  lordheen.  There  was 
the  hape  of  a  pdlilu  on  the  head  of  this,  the  scrawlin*  became 

*FiThtins. 


WHAT  MR.    MAGUIRE  SAW   IN  THE   KITCHEN.       255 

giQ»d,  but  faith,  my  bowld  Skiver  flaked  them  right  and  left, 
min,  wimen  and  childrin,  as  they  was,  until  the  physic  man  came 
up  wid  a  decanter  and  laid  him  as  flat  as  a  pancake.  In  the 
meantime  I  looked  around  for  Biddy,  and,  shure  enough,  there 
she  was,  ^tin'  on  the  barrel,  breakin'  her  heart  cryin',  and  tyin' 
up  the  iordheen's  head  with  a  shally  shawl  I  bought  her  the 
Sathurday  night  afore.    The  physic  man  kum  up  to  feel  his  pulse. 

"  *  Only  wan  thing  '11  cure  him,'  sez  he,  takin'  out  a  watch  as 
big  as  a  pot -lid,  and  cockin'  it  to  his  ear.  '  He'll  be  as  stiff  as  a 
herrin'  afore  five  minutes  if  it's  not  administhered.'  '  And  what's 
that  ?'  sez  Biddy,  in  a  heart-broken  voice.  '  Ai,  what  is  it  ?'  'A 
weddin'-ring,'  sez  the  docthor,  < boiled  down  in  a  pot  of  goat's 
milk.     Haven't  yez  a  ring  yerself,  my  lady  ?' 

"  '  Begor,  thin,  I  have,'  sez  she,  <  an'  here  it's  for  him,  if  'twas 
goold  tin  times  over.' 

"So  she  whipped  off  the  ring,  ma'am,  and  then  Physic  sez, 
*  What'U  Dlnis  think  o'  this  whin  it  kums  to  his  ears?'  sez  he. 

"  '  Will  youhould  your  jaw,  and  don't  be  botherin'  me  about 
the  spalpeen.     I've  somethin'  else  to  consarn  me.' 

"Well,  the  milk  was  boiled,  and  no  sooner  did  the  lordheen 
swallow  it,  than  he  got  up  and  marched  about  the  room  as  grand 
as  a  paycock. 

"  ♦  Does  yez  love  me,  Biddy  ?'  sez  he. 

"  'I  dotes  on  you,'  sez  Biddy;  '  shure,'  sez  she,  '  a  nater  pim- 
ple was  never  seen  than  that  on  your  lordship's  nose.' 

"  '  What  'ud  Maguire  give  for  such  a  lump  of  grandher  ?'  sez 
the  lordheen. 

"  '  The  two  eyes  out  iv  his  head,'  sez  Biddy. 

"  '  When  will  we  be  mairied,  Biddy  ?'  sez  he. 

"  'Faith,  as  soon  as  it'sconvaynant,'  sez  she. 

"  «  Where'U  we  be  married,  jewel  ?'  sez  he. 

<(  «  Why,  thin,  where  but  at  the  North  Pole  ?'  sez  she. 

"' We  must  have  Dinis'  consint,  Biddy,'  sez  the  ould  scoun. 
drel.     '  Will  it  be  aisy  to  find  him  ?' 

"  '  There  he's  behind  the  doore,'  sez  she.  '  Hurrah,  hurrah,' 
sez  the  lordheen,  wheeling  his  stick  around  his  head.     '  Min,'  sez 


256  THE    ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

he,  '  drag  in  that  quadruped,  and  ask  him  if  he  consints  to  my 
martyiag  BWdy  ?'  and,  sure  enough,  before  I  could  lift  a  leg  they 
had  me  off  my  pins  and  planted  in  the  middle  iv  the  flure. 

"  •Biddy,'  sez  I,  '  Biddy,  the  Lord  forgive  ycz  !' 

"'Musha,  hould  your  ugly  mouth,'  sez  she,  'and  don't  be 
cacklin'  like  a  gandher.' 

•"Does  yer  consint?' sez  the  lordheen,  with  a  scrame  like  a 
wild  crane;  'does  yer  consint  to  separate  from  yer  wife  and  give 
her  to  them  that  can  support  her  dacently  ?' 

"  'No,'  sez  I. 

"  'Pull  off  his  hair,  one  by  one,  min,'  sez  the  lordheen,  '  we'll 
taich  him  manners  afore  he's  much  ouldher.' 

"  So  the  pinkeens  kem  around  me  and  they  pulled  away  until 
I  put  my  hand  on  the  top  of  my  head,  roarin'  all  the  time  wid 
pain,  and  saw  I  had  only  throe  hairs  remainin'.  Begor  I  was 
frightened  to  think  of  wearin'  a  wig,  and  as  all  the  hair  was  goin' 
I  thought  best  to  keep  the  seed  of  a  new  crop,  so  sez  I,  '  I  con- 
sint,' and  hardly  were  the  words  out  o'  my  mouth  when  I  sitsup 
and  sees  Biddy  afore  me.  'Get  out  iv  the  house  this  minute,' 
sez  I,  and  wid  that  I  planted  her  in  the  middle  iv  the  pavement, 
for  I  couldn't  consaive  I  had  been  dhramin'.  Arrah  isn't  that  her 
cry  in'  away  in  the  room  there  ?"  said  Denis,  suspending  the  story 
and  listening. 

"'Tis  herself,  then,  poor  woman,"  said  Mrs.  O'Shaughnessy  ; 
"here,  go  in  an'  make  friends  with  her." 

Denis  went,  and  returned  in  a  few  minutes,  holding  his  wife  by 
the  hand. 

"  'Twas  all  a  dhrame,  ma'am,  an'  she  forgives  me,  an'  I'm 
going  to  take  the  pledge  to-morrow." 

"  An'  when  you  do,"  said  his  wife,  laughing,  "  I'll  run  off  with 
the  lordheen." 

"  Are  yez  at  it  again  ?"  said  Denis,  catching  and  kissing  her, 
*•  the  dickens  take  him  for  a  lordheen,  anyhow  ! ' ' 


THE   WILL.  ijjr 


THE  WILL. 


It  was  a  little  after  midnight  that  a  knock  came  to  the  door  of 
oar  cabin.  I  heard  it  first,  for  I  used  to  sleep  in  a  little  snug 
basket  near  the  fire;  but  I  didn't  speak,  for  I  was  frightened.  It 
was  still  repeated  louder,  and  then  came  a  cry — "  Con.  Cregan; 
Coii.  I  say,  open  the  door  !  I  want  you."  I  knew  the  voice 
well;  it  was  Peter  McCabe's;  but  I  pretended  to  be  fast  asleep, 
and  snored  loudly.  At  last  my  father  unbolted  the  door,  and  I 
heard  hinj  say,  "  Oh,  Mr.  Peter,  what's  the  matter?  is  the  ould 
man  worse  ?" 

•'  Faix  that's  what  he  is,  for  he's  dead  !" 

"  Glory  be  his  bed  !  when  did  it  happen  ?" 

"  About  an  hour  ago,"  said  Peter,  in  a  voice  that  even  I,  from 
my  comer,  could  perceive  greatly  agitated.  "  He  died  like  an 
ould  hathen,  Con.,  and  never  made  a  will !" 

"That's  bad,"  says  my  father,  for  he  was  always  a  polite 
man,  and  said  whatever  was  pleasing  to  the  company. 

"  It  is  bad,"  said  Peter;  "  butit  would  be  worse  if  he  couldn't 
help  it.  Listen  to  me  now,  Comey;  I  want  ye  to  help  me  in 
this  business;  and  here  are  five  guineas  in  gold  if  ye  do  what  I 
bid  ye.  You  know  that  ye  were  always  reckoned  the  image  of 
my  father,  and  before  he  took  ill  ye  were  mistaken  for  each  other 
every  day  of  the  week. ' ' 

•'  Anan !"  said  my  father,  for  he  was  getting  frightened  at  the 
notion,  without  well  knowing  why. 

"  Weil,  what  I  want  is  for  ye  to  come  over  mto  the  house  and 
get  into  the  bed." 

"  jN'ot  beside  the  corpse  ?"  said  my  father,  trembling. 


t^B  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS, 

♦'By  no  nv  ans,  but  by  yourself;  and  you're  to  pretend  to  be 
my  father,  and  that  ye  want  to  make  yer  will  before  ye  die;  and 
then  I'll  send  for  the  neighbors,  and  Billy  Scanlan,  the  school- 
master, and  ye'll  tell  him  what  to  write,  leaving  all  the  farm 
and  everything  to  me — ye  understand.  And  as  the  neighbors 
will  see  ye  and  hear  yer  voice,  it  will  never  be  believed  but  it 
was  himself  that  did  it." 

•'  The  room  must  be  very  dark,"  says  my  father. 

«'  To  be  sure  it  will;  but  have  no  fear  !  Nobody  will  dare  to 
come  nigh  the  bed;  and  ye'll  only  have  to  make  a  cross  with  yer 
pen  under  the  name.  Come  along,  now — quick — for  we've  no 
time  to  lose;  it  must  be  all  finished  before  the  day  breaks." 

My  father  did  not  lose  much  time  at  his  toilet,  for  he  just 
wrapped  his  big  coat  round  him,  and,  slipping  on  the  brogues, 
left  the  house.  I  sat  up  in  the  basket,  and  listened  till  they 
were  gone  some  minutes;  and  then,  in  a  costume  as  light  as  my 
parent's,  set  out  after  them  to  watch  the  course  of  the  adventure. 
I  thought  to  take  a  short  cut,  and  be  before  them;  but  by  bad 
luck  I  fell  into  a  bog-hole,  and  only  escaped  drowning  by  a 
chance.  As  it  was,  when  I  reached  the  house  the  performance 
had  already  begun. 

I  think  I  see  the  whole  scene  this  instant  before  my  eyes,  as  I 
sat  on  a  little  window  with  one  pane,  and  that  a  broken  one,  and 
surveyed  the  proceeding.  It  was  a  large  room,  at  one  end  of 
which  was  a  bed,  and  beside  it  was  a  table  with  physic  bottles 
and  spoons  and  tea-cups;  a  little  further  off  was  another  table,  at 
wHch  sat  Billy  Scanlan,  with  all  manner  of  writing  materials  be- 
fore him. 

The  country  people  sat  two  and  sometimes  three  deep  around 
the  walls,  all  intently  eager  and  anxious  for  the  coming  event; 
Peter  himself  went  from  place  to  place,  trying  to  smother  his 
grief,  and  occasionally  helping  the  company  to  something,  which 
was  supplied  with  more  than  accustomed  liberality. 

All  my  consciousness  of  the  deceit  and  trickery  coulu  not  de- 
prive the  scene  of  a  certain  solemnity.  Tlie  misty  distance  of  the 
half-lighted  room;  the  highly-wrou^lit  expression  of  the  country 


THE   WILL.  3591! 

people's  faces,  never  more  intensely  excited  than  at  some  moment 
of  this  kind;  the  low,  deep-drawn  breathing,  unbroken  save  by  a 
sigh  or  a  sob — the  tribute  of  affectionate  sorrow  to  some  lost 
friend,  whose  memory  was  thus  forcibly  brought  back;  these 
were  all  so  real,  that,  as  I  looked,  a  thrilling  sense  of  awe  stole 
over  me,  and  I  actually  shook  with  fear. 

A  low,  faint  cough  from  the  dark  comer  where  the  bed  stood 
seemed  to  cause  even  a  deeper  stillness;  and  then,  in  a  silence 
where  the  buzzing  of  a  fly  would  have  been  heard,  my  father  said: 

"Where's  Billy  Scanlan  ?     I  want  to  make  my  will !" 

"He's  here,  father,"  said  Peter,  taking  Billy  by  the  hand  and 
leading  him  to  the  bed-side. 

"  Write  what  I  bid  ye,  Billy,  and  be  quick;  for  I  haven't  a. 
long  time  afore  me  here;  I  die  a  good  Catholic,  though  Father 
O'Rafferty  won't  give  me  the  rites  !" 

A  general  chorus  of  muttered  "Oh!  musha,  musha!"  was 
now  heard  through  the  room;  but  whether  in  grief  over  the  sad 
fate  of  the  dying  man,  or  the  unflinching  justice  of  the  priest,  is 
hard  to  say. 

"  I  die  in  peace  with  all  my  neighbors  and  all  mankind." 

Another  chorus  of  the  company  seemed  to  approve  these  char- 
itable expressions. 

"  I  bequeath  unto  my  son  Peter — and  never  was  there  a  better 
son  or  a  decenter  boy  ! — have  you  that  down  ?  I  bequeath  unto 
my  son  Peter  the  whole  of  my  two  farms  of  Killimundoonery  and 
Knocksheboora,  with  the  fallow  meadows  behind  Lynch's  house, 
the  forge  and  right  of  turf  on  the  Dooran  bog.  I  give  him — and 
much  good  may  it  do  him — Lanty  Cassam's  acre,  and  the  Luary 
field  with  the  lime-kiln;  and  that  reminds  me  that  my  mouth  is 
just  as  dry.  Let  me  taste  what  ye  have  in  the  jug."  Here  the 
dying  man  took  a  very  hearty  pull,  and  seemed  considerably  re- 
freshed by  it. 

"Wliere  was  I,  Billy  Scanlan?"  says  he;  "oh,  I  remember, 
at  the  lime-kiln.  I  leave  him — that's  Peter,  I  mean — the  two 
potato  gardens  at  Noonan's  Well;  and  it  is  the  elegant,  fine 
crops  grows  there." 


.j6o  the  zozimus  papers. 

"Ain't  you  gettin'  wake,  father  darlin'?"  says  Peter,  who  be- 
gan to  be  afraid  of  my  father's  loquaciousness;  for,  to  say  the 
truth,  the  punch  got  into  his  head,  and  he  was  greatly  disposed 
toUlk. 

"I  am,  Peter,  my  son,"  says  he;  "I  am  getting  wake;  just 
touch  my  lips  again  with  the  jug.  Ah !  Peter,  Peter,  you  watered 
the  drink." 

"No,  indeed,  father,  but  it's  the  taste  is  leavin'  you,"  says 
Peter,  and  again  a  low  chorus  of  compassionate  pity  murmured 
through  the  cabin. 

"Well,  I'm  nearly  done  now,"  says  my  father;  "there's  only 
one  little  plot  of  ground  remaining,  and  I  put  it  on  you,  Peter — 
as  ye  wish  to  live  a  good  man,  and  die  with  the  same  easy  heart 
as  I  do  now — that  ye  mind  my  last  words  to  ye  here.  Are  ye 
listening  ?  Are  the  neighbors  listening  ?  Is  Billy  Scanlan  listen- 
ing?" 

"Yes,  sir;  yes,  father,  we're  all  minding,"  chorused  the 
audience. 

"Well,  then,  it's  my  last  will  and  testament,  and  may — give 
me  over  the  jug" — here  he  took  a  long  drink — "and  may  that 
blessed  liquor  be  poison  to  me  if  I'm  not  as  eager  about  this  as 
every  other  part  of  the  will;  I  say,  then,  I  bequeath  the  little  plot 
at  the  cross  roads  to  poor  Con.  Cregan,  for  he  has  a  heavy  charge, 
and  is  as  honest  and  as  hard-working  a  man  as  ever  I  knew.  Be  a 
friend  to  him,  Peter,  dear;  never  let  him  want  while  ye  have  it 
yourself — think  of  me  on  my  death-bed  whenever  he  asks  ye  for 
any  trifle.  Is  it  down,  Billy  Scanlan?— the  two  acres  at  the 
•cross  to  Con.  Cregan,  and  his  heirs  in  secla  seclorum?  Ah, 
blessed  be  the  saints !  but  I  feel  my  heart  lighter  after  that," 
says  he — "a  good  work  makes  an  easy  conscience.  And  now 
I'll  drink  all  the  company's  good  health,  and  many  happy  re- 
turns— " 

What  he  was  going  to  add  there's  no  saying;  but  Peter,  who 
was  now  terribly  frightened  at  the  lively  tone  the  sick  man  was 
assuming,  hurried  all  the  people  into  another  room,  to  let  his 
father  die  in  peace. 


THE   WILL.  261 

When  they  were  all  gone,  Peter  slipped  back  to  my  father,  who 
was  putting  on  his  brogues  in  a  comer  :  "  Con.,"  says  he,  "ye 
did  it  all  well;  but  sure  that  was  a  joke  about  the  two  acres  at 
the  cross." 

•'  Of  course  it  was,  Peter  !"  says  he;  "sure  it  was  all  a  joke, 
for  the  matter  of  that;  won't  I  make  the  neighbors  laugh  hearty 
to-morrow  when  I  tell  them  all  about  it !" 

"You  wouldn't  be  mean  enough  to  betray  me !"  says  Peter, 
trembling  with  fright. 

"  Sure  you  wouldn't  be  mean  enough  to  go  against  your 
father's  dying  words  !"  says  my  father;  "the  last  sentence  ever 
he  spoke;"  and  here  he  gave  a  low,  wicked  laugh,  that  made 
myself  shake  with  fear. 

"Very  well,  Con.!"  says  Peter,  holding  out  his  hand;  "a 
bargain's  a  bargain ;  yer  a  deep  fellow,  that's  all."  And  so  it 
ended,  and  my  father  slipped  quietly  over  the  bog,  mighty  well 
satisfied  with  the  legacy  he  left  himself. 

And  thus  we  became  the  owners  of  the  little  spot  known  to 
thiB  day  as  Corn's  Acre. 


262  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 


SERVING  A  WRIT. 


My  father,  who,  for  reasons  registered  in  the  King's  Bench, 
spent  a  great  many  years  of  his  life  in  that  part  of  Ireland  geo- 
graphically known  as  lying  west  of  the  law,  was  obliged,  for  cer- 
tain reasons  of  family,  to  come  up  to  Dublin.  This  he  pro- 
ceeded to  do  with  due  caution:  two  trusty  servants  formed  an 
advance  guard,  and  patrolled  the  country  for  at  least  five  miles 
in  advance ;  after  them  came  a  skirmishing  body  of  a  few  tenants, 
who,  for  the  consideration  of  never  paying  rent,  would  have 
charged  the  whole  Court  of  Chancery,  if  needful.  My  father 
himself,  in  an  old  chaise  victualled  like  a  fortress,  brought  up  the 
rear;  and,  as  I  said  before,  he  was  a  bold  man  who  would  have 
attempted  to  have  laid  siege  to  him.  As  the  column  advanced 
ijito  the  en£my's  country,  they  assumed  a  closer  order,  the  patrol 
and  the  pic}art  falling  back  upon  the  main  body;  and  in  this  way 
they  reached  that  most  interesting  city  called  Kilbeggan.  What 
a  fortonaie  thing  it  is  for  us  in  Ireland  that  we  can  see  so  much 
of  the  w'orld  without  foreign  travel,  and  that  any  gentleman,  for 
six  arrd  eightpence,  can  leave  Dublin  in  the  morning  and  visit 
Timbucto-J  against  dinner-time !  Don't  stare !  it's  truth  I'm 
telling;  for  dirt,  misery,  smoke,  unaffected  behavior  and  black 
faces,  I'll  back  Kilbeggan'  against  all  Africa.  Free-and-easy, 
pleasant  people  they  are,  with  a  skin  as  l:)egrimed  and  as  rugged  as 
their  own  potatoes  !  But  to  resume:  the  sun  was  just  rising  in  a 
delicioira  -jioiTiing  of  June,  when  my  father— whose  loyal  antip- 
athies I  have  mentioned  made  him  also  an  earlier  riser — was 
preparing  for  the  road.  A  stout  escort  of  his  followers  were,  as 
usual,  under  arms  to  see  him  safe  in  the  chaise,  the  passage  to 


SERVING    A    WRIT.  263 

and  from  which  every  day  being  the  critical  moment  of  my 
father's  life. 

"  It's  all  right,  your  honor,"  said  his  own  man,  as,  armed  with 
a  blunderbuss,  he  opened  the  bed-room  door. 

"Time  enough,  Tim,"  said  my  father;  "close  the  door,  for 
I  haven't  finished  my  breakfast." 

Now  the  real  truth  was,  that  my  father's  attention  was  at  that 
moment  withdrawn  from  his  own  concerns  by  a  scene  which  was 
taking  place  in  a  field  beneath  his  window. 

But  a  few  minutes  before  a  hack-chaise  had  stopped  upon  the 
road-side,  out  of  which  sprang  three  gentlemen,  who,  proceeding 
to  the  field,  seemed  bent  upon  som-thing  which,  whether  a  sur- 
vey or  a  duel,  my  father  could  not  make  out.  He  was  not  long, 
however,  to  remain  in  ignorance.  One  with  an  easy,  lounging 
gait  strode  towards  a  distant  comer;  another  took  an  opposite 
direction;  while  the  third,  a  short,  pursy  gentleman,  in  a  red 
handkerchief  and  a  rabbit-skin  waistcoat,  proceeded  to  open  a 
mahogany  box,  which,  to  the  critical  eyes  of  my  respected 
father,  was  agreeably  suggestive  of  bloodshed  and  murder. 

"A  duel,  by  Jupiter !"  said  my  fatlier,  rubbing  his  hands. 
"What  a  heavenly  morning  the  scoundrels  have — not  a  leaf  stir- 
ring, and  a  sod  lilce  a  billiard-table." 

Meanwhile  the  little  man  who  officiated  as  second,  it  would 
appear,  to  both  parties,  bustled  about  with  activity  little  congenial 
to  his  shape;  and,  what  between  snapping  the  pistols,  examining 
the  flints  and  ramming  down  the  charges,  had  got  himself  into  a 
sufficient  prespiration  before  he  commenced  to  measure  off  the 
ground. 

"  Short  distance  and  no  quarter !"  shouted  one  of  the  combat- 
ants from  the  corner  of  the  field. 

"Across  a  handkerchief  if  you  like  !"  roared  the  other. 

"Gentlemen,  every  inch  of  them!"  responded  my  father. 

"Twelve  paces!"  cried  the  little  man.  "No  more  and  no 
less.     Don't  forget  that  I'm  alone  in  this  business." 

"Avery  true  remark!"  observed  my  father;  "and  an  awk- 
ward predicament  yours  will  be,  if  they  are  both  shot!" 


264  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

By  this  time  the  combatants  had  taken  their  places,  and  the 
little  man,  having  delivered  the  pistols,  was  leisurely  retiring  to 
give  the  word.  My  father,  however,  whose  critical  eye  was  never 
at  fault,  detected  a  circumsLance  which  promised  an  immense  ad- 
vantage to  one  at  the  expense  of  the  other;  in  fact,  one  of  the 
parties  was  so  placed  with  his  back  to  the  sun,  that  his  shadow 
extended  in  a  straight  line  to  the  very  foot  of  his  antagonist. 

"Unfair!  unfair!"  cried  my  father,  opening  the  window  as 
he  spoke,  and  addressing  himself  to  him  of  the  rabbit-skin.  *'  I 
crave  your  pardon  for  the  interruption,"  said  he;  "but  I  feel 
bound  to  observe  that  that  gentleman's  shadow  is  likely  to  be 
made  a  shade  of  him." 

"And  so  it  is,"  observed  the  short  man:  "a  thousand  thanks 
for  your  kindness;  but  the  truth  is,  I  am  totally  unaccustomed  to 
this  kind  of  thing,  and  the  affair  will  not  admit  of  delay." 

"Not  an  hour  !"  said  one. 

"Not  five  minutes  !"  growled  the  other  of  the  combatants. 

"  Put  them  up  north  and  south  !"  said  my  father. 

"Is  it  thus?" 

"Exactly  so;  but  mw  again  the  gentleman  in  the  brown  coat 
is  covered  with  the  ash  tree." 

"And  so  he  is!"  said  rabbit-skin,  wiping  his  forehead  with 
agitation. 

"  Move  them  a  little  to  the  left,"  said  he. 

"That  brings  me  upon  an  eminence,"  said  the  gentleman  in 
blue;  "I'll  not  be  made  a  cock  shot  of." 

"What  an  awkward  little  tiling  it  is  in  the  hairy  waistcoat!" 
said  my  father;  "he's  lucky  if  he  don't  get  shot  himself." 

"May  I  never  !  if  I'm  not  sick  of  you  both!"  ejaculated  rab- 
bit-skin, in  a  passion.  "  I've  moved  you  round  every  point  of  the 
compass,  and  the  sorrow  a  nearer  we  are  than  ever." 

"Give  us  the  word,"  said  one. 

"The  word!" 

"  Downright  murder,"  said  my  father. 

"I  don't  care,"  said  the  little  man;  "we  shall  be  here  till 
doomsday." 


SERVING    A    WRIT.  265 

"I  can't  permit  this,"  said  my  father.  "Allow  me — "  so 
saying,  he  stepped' upon  the  window-sill  and  leaped  down  into 
the  lield. 

•'  Before  I  can  accept  of  your  politeness, "  said  he  of  the  rabbit- 
skin,  "  may  I  beg  to  know  your  name  and  position  in  society?" 

"Nothing  more  reasonable,"  said  my  father.  "I'm  Miles 
O'Shaughnessy,  Colonel  of  the  Royal  Raspers;  here  is  my  card." 

The  piece  of  pasteboard  was  complacently  handed  from  one  to 
the  other  of  the  party,  who  saluted  my  father  with  a  smile  of  most 
courteous  benignity. 

"Colonel  O'Shaughnessy,"  said  one. 

"Miles  O'Shaughnessy,"  said  another. 

" Of  Killinahoula  Castle,"  said  the  third. 

"  At  your  service,"  said  my  father,  bowing  as  he  presented  his 
smtffJxix:  "and  now  to  business,  if  you  please;  for  my  time  also 
is  limited." 

"Very  true,"  observed  he  of  the  rabbit-skin,  "and,  as  youob- 
»erve,  now  to  business;  in  virtue  of  which.  Colonel  Miles 
O'Shaughnessy,  I  hereby  arrest  you  in  the  king's  name.  Here 
is  the  writ:  it's  at  the  suit  of  Bamaby  Kelly,  of  Loughrea,  for  the 
snm  of  ;/^i,583  19s.  yyid.,  which — " 

Before  he  could  conclude  the  sentence,  my  father  discharged 
one  obligation  by  implanting  his  closed  knuckles  in  his  face. 
The  blow,  well-aimed  and  well-intentioned,  sent  the  little  fellow 
somersetting  like  a  sugar  hogshead.  But,  alas !  it  was  of  no  use; 
the  others,  strong  and  able-bodied,  fell  both  upon  him,  and  after 
a  desperate  struggle  succeeded  in  getting  him  down.  To  tie  his 
hands  and  convey  him  to  the  chaise  was  the  work  of  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  as  my  father  drove  by  the  inn,  the  last  object  which 
caught  his  view  was  a  bloody  encounter  between  his  own  people 
and  the  myrmidons  of  the  law,  who  in  great  numbers  had  laid 
siege  to  the  house  during  hiscapture.  Thus  was  my  father  taken, 
and  thus,  in  reward  for  yielding  to  a  virtuous  weakness  in  his 
diaracter,  was  he  consigned  to  the  ignominious  durance  of  a 
prison. 


266  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS, 


THE  GAUGER  OUTWITTED. 


Young  Condy  Cullen  was  descended  from  a  long  line  of  pri- 
▼ate  distillers,  and,  of  course,  exhibited  in  his  own  person  all  the 
practical  wit,  sagacity,  cunning  and  fertility  of  invention,  which 
the  natural  genius  of  the  family,  sharpened  by  long  experience, 
had  created  from  generation  to  generation,  as  a  standing  capital 
to  be  handed  down  from  father  to  son.  There  was  scarcely  a 
trick,  evasion,  plot,  scheme  or  manoeuvre  that  had  ever  been  re- 
sorted to  by  his  ancestors,  that  Condy  had  not  at  his  fingers'  ends, 
and  though  but  a  lad  of  sixteen  at  the  time  we  present  him  to  the 
reader,  yet  be  it  observed,  that  he  had  his  mind,  even  at  that  age, 
admirably  trained  by  four  or  five  years  of  keen,  vigorous  practice, 
in  all  the  resources  needed  to  meet  the  subtle  vigilance  and 
stealthy  circumvention  of  that  prowling  animal — the  gauger.  In 
feet,  Condy's  talents  did  not  merely  consist  in  an  acquaintance 
with  the  hereditary  tricks  of  his  family.  These  of  themselves 
would  prove  but  a  miserable  defense  against  the  ever-varying  in- 
geiraily  with  which  the  progressive  skill  of  the  still-hunter  masks 
his  approaches  and  conducts  his  designs.  On  the  contrary, 
every  n^w  plan  of  the  gauger  must  be  met  and  defeated  by  a 
coun.lei-plan  equally  novel,  but  with  this  difference  in  the  char- 
acter of  both,  that  whereas  the  excise-man's  devices  are  the  re- 
sult of  mature  deliberation — Paddy's,  from  the  very  nature  of  the 
dtciimstaiices,  must  l>e  necessarily  extemporaneous  and  rapid. 
Th£  bc«lility  between  the  parties  being,  as  it  is,  carried  on 
throagh  such  varied  stratagem  on  both  sides,  and  characterized 
by  finch  adroit  and  able  duplicity,  by  so  many  quick  and  unex- 
pected turns  of  incident— it  would  be  utter  fatuity  in  either,  to 


THE    GAUGER    OUTWITTED.  267 

rely  upon  obsolete  tricks  and  slale  manoeuvres.  Their  relative 
position  and  occupation  do  not,  thcrefjrc,  merely  exhibit  a  con- 
test between  I.aw  and  that  mountain  nymph,  Liberty,  or  between 
the  Excise  Boaid  and  the  Smuggler — it  presents  a  more  interest- 
ing- point  for  observation — namely,  the  struggle  between  wit  and 
wit — between  roguery  and  knavery. 

It  might  be  very  amusing  to  detail,  from  time  to  time,  a  few  of 
those  keen  encounters  of  practical  cunning  which  take  place  be- 
tween the  potheen  distiller  and  his  lynx-eyed  foe,  the  ganger. 
They  are  curious  as  throwing  light  upon  the  national  character 
of  our  people,  and  as  evidences  of  the  surprising  readiness  of  wit, 
fertility  of  invention  and  irresistible  humor  which  they  mix  up 
with  almost  every  actual  concern  of  life,  no  matter  how  difficult 
or  critical  it  may  be.  Nay,  it  mostly  happens  that  the  character 
of  the  peasant,  in  all  its  fullness,  rises  in  proportion  to  what  he 
is  called  upon  to  encounter,  and  that  the  laugh  at,  or  the  hoax 
upon  the  ganger,  keeps  pace  with  the  difficulty  that  is  overcome. 
But  nov/  to  our  short  story. 

Two  men  in  the  garb  of  gentlemen  were  riding  along  a  remote 
by-road,  one  morning  in  the  month  of  October,  about  the  year 
1827,  or  '28,  I  am  not  certain  which.  The  air  was  remarkably 
clear,  keen  and  bracing;  a  hoar  frost  for  the  few  preceding  nights 
had  set  in,  and  then  lay  upon  the  fields  about  them,  melting 
gradually,  however,  as  the  sun  got  strength,  with  the  exception 
of  the  sides  of  such  hills  and  valleys  as  his  beams  could  not  reach, 
until  evcaiug  chilled  their  influenced  too  much  to  absorb  the 
feathery  whiteness  which  covered  them.  Our  equestrians  had 
nearly  reached  a  turn  in  the  way,  which,  we  should  observe  in 
this  place,  skirted  the  brow  of  a  small  declivity  that  lay  on  the 
right.  In  point  of  fact,  it  was  a  moderately  inclined  plane  or 
slope  rather  than  a  declivity;  but  be  this  .is  it  may,  the  flat  at  itc 
foot  was  studded  over  with  furze  bushes,  which  grew  si  close  and 
levisl,  that  a  person  might  almost  imagine  it  possible  to  walk 
upcm  their  surface. 

On  coming  within  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards  of  this 
angle,  the  riders  noticed  a  lad,  not  more  than  sixteen,  jogging  ou 


268  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

tcnvaids  them,  with  a  keg  upon  his  back.  The  eye  of  one  ot 
them  was  i:nmediately  lit  with  that  vivacious  sparkling  of  habit, 
ual  Kagacity  wluch  marks  the  practiced  gauger  among  ten  thou- 
sand. For  a  single  moment  he  drew  up  his  horse — an  action 
which,  however  slight  in  itself,  intimated  more  plainly  than  he 
couU  have  wished  the  obvious  interest  which  had  just  been  ex- 
cited in  him.  Short  as  was  the  pause,  it  betrayed  him,  for  no 
sooner  had  the  lad  noticed  it,  than  he  crossed  the  ditch  and  dis- 
appeared round  the  angle  we  have  mentioned,  and  upon  tha  side 
of  the  declivity.  To  gallop  to  the  spot,  dismount,  cross  the  ditch 
also,  and  pursue  him,  was  only  the  work  of  a  few  minutes. 

"We  have  him,"  said  the  ganger,  "we  have  him.  One  thing 
is  clear,  he  cannot  escape  us." 

*  "Speak  for  yourself,  Stinton,"  replied  his  companion  "Aj 
for  me,  not  being  an  officer  of  his  Majesty's  Excise,  I  decline 
taking  any  part  in  the  pursuit.  It  is  a  fair  battle;  so  fight  it  out 
between  you;  I  am  with  you  now  only  through  curiosity."  He 
had  scarcely  concluded,  when  they  heard  a  voice  singing  the 
following  lilies,  in  a  spirit  of  that  hearty  hilarity  which  betokens 
a  cheerful  contempt  of  care,  and  an  utter  absence  of  all  appre- 
hension : 

"  Oh  !  Jemmy,  she  sez,  you  are  my  true  lover. 
You  are  all  the  riches  that  I  do  adore; 
1  solemnly  sware  now  I'll  ne'er  have  another. 
My  heart  it  is  fixed  to  never  love  more." 

The  music  then  chinged  into  a  joyous  whistle,  and  imme- 
diately they  were  confronted  by  a  lad,  dressed  in  an  old  redcoat, 
patched  with  gray  frieze,  who,  on  seeing  tlu>m,  exhibited  in  his 
feature!)  a  most  ingenious  air  of  natural  surprise  He  immediately 
ceased  to  whistle,  and  with  every  mark  of  respect,  putting  his 
hand  to  his  hat,  said  in  a  voice,  the  tones  of  which  spoke  of  kind- 
ness and  deference: 

"  God  save  ye,  gintlemen." 

"1  say,  my  lad,"  said  the  ganger,  "  where  is  that  customer 
vatlt  the  keg  on  his  back  ? — he  crossed  over  there  this  moment." 

"Where,  when,  sir?"  said  the  lad,  with  a  staic  of  surprise. 


THE    GAUGER    OUTWITTED.  269 

'*  Where?  when?  why,  this  minute,  and  in  this  place." 

"And  ^va3  it  a  whiskey  keg,  sir?" 

"  Sir,  I  am  liot  here  to  be  examined  by  you,"  replied  Stinton; 
*'  confound  me  if  the  conniving  young  rascal  is  not  striking  me 
into  a  cross-examination  already — I  say,  redcoat,  where  is  the 
boy  with  the  keg,  sir  ?" 

"  As  for  a  boy,  I  did  see  a  boy,  sir;  but  the  never  a  keg  he 
had — hadn't  he  a  gray  frieze  coat,  sir?" 

"He  had." 

"And  wasn't  it  a  dauny  bit  short  about  the  skirts,  please  your 
honor  ? ' ' 

"Again  he's  at  me.  Sirra,  unless  you  tell  me  where  he  is  in 
a  half  second,  I  shall  lay  my  whip  to  your  shoulders." 

"  The  sorra  a  keg  I  seen  then,  sir — the  last  keg  I  seen  was — " 

"  Did  you  see  a  boy  without  the  keg,  answering  to  the  descrip- 
tion I  gave  you  ?" 

"  You  gave  me  no  description  of  it,  sir — but  even  if  you  did — 
when  I  didn't  see  it,  how  could  I  tell  your  honor  anything 
about  it?" 

"  Where  is  the  fellow,  you  villain  ?"  exclaimed  the  gauger  in 
a  fiiry,  "where  is  he  gone  to  ?  You  admit  you  saw  him  ;  as  for 
the  keg,  it  cannot  be  far  from  us^jut  where  is  he  ?" 

"  By  dad,  I  saw  a  boy  wid  a  short  frieze  coat  upon  him,  cross- 
ing the  road  there  below  and  runnin'  down  the  other  side  of  that 
ditch." 

This  was  too  palpable  a  lie  to  stand  the  test  even  of  a  glance 
at  the  ditch  in  question,  which  was  nothing  more  than  a  slight 
mound  that  ran  down  a  long  lea  field,  on  which  there  was  not 
the  appearance  of  a  shrub. 

The  gauger  looked  at  his  companion,  then  turning  to  the  boy, 
•'Come,  come  my  lad,"  said  he,  "  you  know  that  lie  is  rather 
cool.  Don't  you  feel  in  your  soul  that  a  rat  could  not  have  gone 
in  that  direction  without  our  seeing  it  ?" 

"  Bedadan'  I  saw  him,"  returned  the  lad,  "wid  a  giay  coat 
upon  him,  that  was  a  little  too  short  in  the  tail — it's  better  than 
hall  an  hour  atjone." 


VfO  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

**  The  boy  I  speak  of,  you  must  have  met,''  said  Stinton;  "  it'f 
not  five  minutes — no,  not  more  than  three,  since  he  came  inside 
the  field." 

"  That  my  feet  may  grow  to  the  ground,  then,  if  I  seen  a  boy 
in  or  about  this  place,  widin  the  time,  barrin'  myself." 

The  gauger  eyed  him  closely  for  a  short  space,  and  pulling  out 
half  a  crown,  said— "  Harkee,  my  lad,  a  word  with  you  in 
private." 

The  fact  is,  that  during  the  latter  part  of  this  dialogue  the 
worthy  exciseman  observed  the  cautious  distance  at  which  the 
boy  kept  himself  fro.n  the  grasp  of  him  and  his  companion.  A 
suspicion  consequently  began  to  dawn  upon  him  that. in  defiance 
of  appearances,  the  lad  himself  might  be  the  actual  smuggler. 
On  reconsidering  the  matter,  this  suspicion  almost  amounted  to 
certainty  ;  the  time  was  too  short  to  permit  even  the  most  in- 
genious cheat  to  render  himself  and  his  keg  invisible  in  a  manner 
so  utterly  unaccountable.  On  the  other  hand,  when  he  reflected 
on  the  opjn,  artless  character  of  the  boy's  song;  the  capricious 
change  to  a  li^ht-hearted  whistle;  the  surprise  so  naturally  and 
the  respect  so  deferentially  expressed,  joined  to  the  dissimilarity 
of  dress,  he  was  confounded  again,  and  scarcely  knew  on  which 
side  to  determine.  Even  the  lad's  reluctance  to  approach  him 
might  proceed  from  fear  of  ihe  whip.  He  felt  resolved,  however, 
to  ascertain  this  point,  and  with  the  view  of  getting  the  lad  into 
his  hands,  he  showed  him  half  a  crown  and  addressed  him  as 
already  stated. 

The  lad,  on  seeing  the  money,  appeared  to  be  instantly  caught 
by  it,  and  approached  him  as  if  it  had  been  a  bait  he  could  not 
resist — a  circumstance  which  again  staggered  the  gauger.  In  a 
moment,  however,  he  had  seized  him. 

"Come,  now,"  said  he,  unbuttoning  his  coat,  "you  will 
oblige  me  by  stripping." 

"And  why  so?"  said  the  lad,  with  a  face  that  might  have 
furnished  a  painter  or  sculptor  with  a  perfect  notion  of  curiosity, 
perplcjdty  and  wonder. 

"Why  so  ?"  replied  Stinson;  "we  shall  see — we  shall  soon 
see." 


THE    GAUGER   OUTWITTED.  27 1 

•*  Surely  you  don't  think  I've  hid  the  keg  about  me,"  said  the 
other,  his  features  now  relaxing  into  such  an  appearance  of  utter 
simplicity  33  would  have  certainly  made  any  other  man  but  a 
gauger  give  up  the  examination  as  hopeless  and  exonerate  the 
boy  from  any  participation  whatsoever  in  the  transaction. 

"No,  no,"  replied  the  gauger,  "by  no  means,  you  young 
tascal.  "See  here,  Cartwright,"  he  continued,  addressing  his 
eompanion — "the  keg,  my  precious;"  again  turning  to  the  lad — 
"Oh!  no,  no;  it  would  be  cruel  to  suspect  you  of  anything  but 
the  purest  of  simplicity." 

"Look  here,  Cartwright,"  having  stripped  the  boy  of  his^oat 
and  turned  it  inside  out,  "  there's  a  coat — there's  thrift — there's 
economy  for  you.  Come,  sir,  tuck  on,  tuck  on  instantly;  here,  I 
shall  assist  you — up  with  your  arms — straighten  your  neck;  it 
will  be  both  straightened  and  stretched  yet,  my  cherub.  What 
think  you  now,  Cartwright  ?  Did  you  ever  see  a  metamorphosis 
in  your  life  so  quick,  complete  and  unexpected  ?" 

His  companion  was  certainly  astonished  in  no  small  degree, 
on  seeing  the  red  coat,  when  turned,  become  a  comfortable  gray 
freize;  one  precisely  such  as  he  who  bore  the  keg  had  on.  Nay, 
after  surveying  his  person  and  dress  a  second  time,  he  instantly 
recognized  him  as  the  same. 

The  only  interest,  we  should  observe,  which  this  gentleman 
had  in  the  transaction,  arose  from  the  mere  gratification  which  a 
keen  observer  of  character,  gifted  with  a  strong  relish  for  humor, 
might  be  supposed  to  feel.  The  gauger,  in  sifting  the  matter, 
and  scenting  the  trail  of  the  keg,  was  now  in  his  glory,  and  cer- 
t.iiuly,  when  met  by  so  able  an  opponent  as  our  friend  Condy,  for 
it  was  indeed  himself,  furnished  a  very  rich  treat  to  his  friend. 

"Now,"  he  continued,  addressing  the  boy  again — "lose  not  a 
moment  in  letting  us  know  where  you've  hid  the  keg." 

"  The  sorra  bit  of  it  I  hid — it  fell  off  o'  me  an'  I  lost  it;  sure 
I'm  lookin'  after  it  myself,  so  I  am,"  and  he  moved  off  while 
speaking,  as  if  pretending  to  search  for  it  in  a  thin  hedge,  which 
could  by  no  means  conceal  it. 

"  Cartwright,"  said  the  gauger,  "did  you  ever  see  anything  so 


272  THE   ZOZIMUS  PAPERS. 

perfect  as  this,  so  ripe  a  rascal — yoa  don't  understand  him  now. 
Heroj  you  simpleton;  harkee,  sirra,  there  must  be  no  playing 
the  lapwing  willi  me;  back  here  to  the  same  point.  We  may  lay 
it  down  as  a  sure  thing  that  whatever  direction  he  takes  from  this 
spot  h  the  wrong  one;  so  back  here,  you  sir,  till  we  survey  the 
premises  about  us  for  your  traces." 

The  boy  walked  sheepishly  back,  and  appeared  to  look  about 
him  for  the  keg  with  a  kind  of  earnest  stupidity,  which  was  al- 
together inimitable. 

"I  say,  my  boy,"  asked  Stinton,  ironically,  "don't  you  look 
rathfer  foolish  now  ?  Can  you  tell  your  right  hand  from  your 
left?" 

'♦I  can,"  replied  Condy,  holding  up  his  left,  «' there's  my 
right  hand." 

"And  what  do  you  call  the  other?"  said  Cartwright. 
"My  left,  bedad,  anyhow,  an'  that's  true  enough." 
Both  gentlemen  laughed  heartily. 

•'  But  it's  carrying  the  thing  a  little  too  far,"  said  the  ganger; 
"  in  the  mean  time  let  us  hear  how  you  prove  it." 

"  Aisy  enough,  sir,"  replied  Condy,  "l^ekase  I  am  left-hand- 
ed— tliis,"  holding  up  the  left,  "  is  the  right  hand  to  me,  what- 
ever you  may  say  to  the  contrary." 

Condy's  countenance  expanded,  after  he  had  spoken,  into  a 
grin  so  broad  and  full  of  grotesque  sarcasm,  that  Stinton  and  his 
companion  both  found  their  faces,  in  spite  of  tliem,  get  rather 
blank  under  its  influence. 

*'  What  the  deuce  !"  exclaimed  the  ganger,  "  are  ^Ve  to  be  here 
all  day  ?     Come,  sir,  bring  us  at  once  to  the  keg." 

He  was  here  interrupted  by  a  laugh  from  Cartwright,.  so  vocif- 
erous, loud  and  hearty,  that  he  looked  at  him  with  amazement. 

"Hey,  day,"  he  exclaimed,  "what's  the  matter,  what  new 
joke  is  this?" 

For  some  minutes,  however,  he  could  not  get  a  word  from  the 
other,  whose  laughter  appeared  as  if  never  to  end  ;  he  walked 
to  and  fro  in  absolute  convulsions,  bending  his  body  and  clap- 
ping his  hands  together,  with  a  vehemence  quite  unintelligible. 


THE    GAUGER    OUTWITTED.  273 

"What  isit,  man  ?"  cried  the  other,  "confound  you,  what  is 
it?" 

"Oh  !"  replied  Cartwright,  "  I  am  sick,  perfectly  feeble." 

"  You  have  it  to  yourself,  at  all  events,"  observed  Stinton. 

"  And  shall  keep  it  to  myself,"  said  Cartwright;  "  your  sa- 
gacity is  overreached ;  you  must  be  contented  to  sit  down  under 
defeat.     I  won't  interfere." 

Now,  in  this  contest  between  the  ganger  and  Condy,  even  so 
slight  a  thing  as  one  glance  of  the  eye  by  the  latter  might  have 
given  a  proper  cue  to  an  opponent  so  sharp  as  Stinton.  Condy 
during  the  whole  dialogue,  consequently,  preserved  the  most 
vague  and  undefinable  visage  imaginable  except  in  the  matter  of 
his  distinction  between  "  right  "  and  "left,"  and  Stinton,  who 
watched  his  eyes  with  the  shrewdest  vigilance,  could  make  noth- 
ing of  it.  Not  so  was  it  between  him  and  Cartwright ;  for  during 
the  closing  paroxysms  of  his  mirth,  Stinton  caught  his  eye  fixed 
upon  a  certain  mark  barely  visible  upon  the  hoar  frost,  which 
mark  extended  dovvn  to  the  furze  bushes  that  grew  at  the  foot  of 
the  slope  where  they  then  stood. 

As  a  staunch  old  hound  lays  his  nose  to  the  trail  of  a  hare  or 
fox,  so  did  the  ganger  pursue  the  trace  of  the  keg,  down  the  lit- 
tle hill;  for  the  fact  was,  that  Condy,  having  no  other  resource, 
tumbled  it  off  toward  the  furze,  into  which  it  settled  perfectly  to 
his  satisfaction;  and  with  all  the  quickness  of  youth  and  practice, 
instantly  turned  his  coat,  which  had  been  made  purposely  for 
such  encounters.  This  accomplished,  he  had  barely  time  to  ad- 
vajice  a  few  yards  round  the  angle  of  the  hedge,  and  changing 
hb  whole  manner  as  well  as  his  appearance,  acquitted  himself  as 
the  reader  has  already  seen.  That  he  could  have  carried  the  keg 
down  to  the  cover,  then  conceal  it,  and  return  to  the  spot  where 
they  met  him,  was  utterly  beyond  the  reach  of  human  exertion,  s* 
that  in  point  of  fact  they  never  could  have  suspected  that  the 
wliiskey  lay  in  such  a  place. 

The  triumph  of  the  ganger  was  now  complete,  and  a  complac- 
ent sense  of  his  own  sagacity  sat  visible  on  his  features.  Condy's 
face,  on  the  other  hand,  became  considerably  lengthened,  and  up- 


»74  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

peared  quite  as  rueful  and  mortified  as  the  other's  was  joyous  and 

confidcRt. 

"Who's  the  sharpest  now,  my  knowing  one  ?"  said  he,  "  who 
is  the  laugh  against,  as  matters  stand  between  us?" 

"The  sorra  give  you  good  of  it,"  said  Condy  sulkily. 

*'  What  is  your  name  ?"  inquired  Stinton. 

"Barney  Keerigan's  my  name,"  replied  the  other  indignantly; 
"  an'  I'm  not  ashamed  of  it,  nor  afraid  to  tell  it  to  you  or  any  other 
man." 

"  What,  of  the  Keerigans  of  Killogan  ?" 

"  Ay  jist,  of  thj  Keerigans  of  Killogan." 

"  1  know  the  family,"  said  Stinton.  "  They  are  decent  in  their 
■way — but  come,  my  lad,  don't  lose  your  temper,  and  answer  me 
another  question.     Where  were  you  bringing  this  whiskey  ?" 

"  To  a  betlher  man  than  ever  stood  in  your  shoes,"  replied  Con- 
dy in  a  tone  of  absolute  defiance — "to  a  gintleman  anyway," 
wiih  a  peculiar  emphasis  on  the  word  gintleman. 

"  But  what's  his  name  ?" 

"Mr.  Stinton's  his  name — ganger  Stinton." 

Tlie  slirewd  exciseman  stood  and  fixed  his  keen  eye  on  Condy 
for  up^v^ards  of  a  minute,  with  a  glance  of  such  piercing  scrutiny 
as  scarcely  any  consciousness  of  imposture  could  withstand. 

Condy,  on  tlie  other  hand,  stood  and  eyed  him  with  an  open, 
unshrinking,  yet  angry  glance;  never  winced,  but  appeared  by 
the  detection  of  his  keg  to  have  forgotten  the  line  of  cunning 
policy  he  had  previously  adopted,  in  a  mortification  which  had 
predominated  over  duplicity  and  art. 

He  is  now  speaking  truth,  thought  the  ganger.  lie  has  lost 
his  temper,  and  is  completely  off  his  guard. 

"Well,  my  lad,"  he  continued,  "  this  is  very  good  so  far,  but 
who  was  it  sent  the  keg  to  Stinton  ?" 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  Condy,  with  a  look  of  strong  contempt 
at  the  ganger,  for  deemmg  him  so  utterly  silly  as  to  tell  him, 
**  Do  you  think  you  can  make  me  turn  informer  ?  There's  none 
of  that  blood  in  me,  thank  goodness." 

"  Do  you  know  Stinton  ?" 


THE    GAUGER    OUTWITTED.  2J$ 

"How  could  I  know  the  man  I  never  seen?"  replied  Condy, 
still  oat  of  temper;  "  but  one  thing  I  don't  know,  gintlemen,  and 
that  is,  whether  you  have  any  right  to  t^.kc  my  whiskey  or  not." 

"  As  to  that,  my  good  lad,  make  your  mind  easy — I'm  Stin- 
l!on." 

•'You,  sir,"  said  Condy,  with  well -feigned  surprise. 

'•  Yes,"  replied  the  other,  "  I'm  the  very  man  you  were  bring- 
ing the  keg  to.  And  now  I'll  tell  you  what  you  must  do  for  me. 
Proceed  to  my  house  with  as  little  delay  as  possible;  ask  to  see 
iqy  daughter — ask  for  Miss  Stinton— take  this  key,  and  desire  her 
to  have  the  keg  put  into  the  cellar.  She'll  know  the  key,  and 
let  it  also  be  a  token  that  she  is  to  give  you  your  breakfast.  Say 
I  desired  that  keg  to  be  placed  to  the  right  of  the  five  gallon  one 
that  I  seized  on  Thursday  last,  that  stands  on  a  little  stillion  un- 
der my  blunderbuss. ' ' 

"  Of  coorse,"  said  Condy,  who  appeared  to  have  misgivings  on 
the  matter,  "  I  suppose  I  must,  but  somehow " 

"Why,  sirrah,  what  do  you  grumble  now  for?" 

Condy  still  eyed  him  with  suspicion. 

"And,  sir,"  said  he,  after  having  once  more  mounted  the  keg, 
"  am  I  to  get  nothing  for  such  a  weary  trudge  as  I  had  wid  it, 
but  my  breakfast?" 

"  Here,"  said  Stinton,  throwing  him  half  a  crown,  "  take  that 
along  with  it,  and  now  ha  off — or  stop — Cartwright,  will  you 
dine  with  me  to-day,  and  let  U5  broach  the  keg  ?  I'll  gaurantee 
its  excellence,  for  this  is  not  the  first  I  have  got  from  the  same 
quarter — that's  enire  nous." 

"With  all  my  heart,"  replied  Cartwright,  "upon  the  terms 
you  say,  that  of  the  broach." 

"Then,  my  lad,"  said  Stinton,  " say  to  my  daughter  that  a 
friend — perhaps  a  friend  or  two — will  dine  with  me  to-day;  that 
is  enough.'' 

They  then  mounted  their  horses,  and  were  proceeding  as  before, 
when  Cartwright  addressed  the  gauger  as  follows  :  "  Do  you  not 
put  this  lad,  Slinton,  i:i  a  capacity  to  overreach  you  yet  ?" 

"No,"  replied  the  other,  "the  young  rascal  spoke  the  truth 


276  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

after  the  discoverj-  of  the  keg,  for  he  lost  his  temper,  and  was  no 
longer  cool." 

"  For  my  part,  hang  me  if  I'd  trust  him." 

"I  should  scruple  to  do  so,  myself,"  replied  the  ganger,  "but, 
as  I  said,  these  Keerigans — notorious  illicit  fellows,  by  the  way — 
send  me  a  keg  or  two  every  year,  and  almost  always  about  this 
rery  time.  Besides,  I  read  him  to  the  heart  and  he  never  winced. 
Yes,  decidedly,  the  whiskey  was  for  me;  of  that  I  have  no  doubt 
whatsoever." 

"  I  most  positively  would  not  trust  him." 

'•  Not  that  perhaps  I  ought,"  said  Stinton,  "  on  second  thought, 
to  place  such  confidence  in  a  lad  who  acted  so  adroitly  in  the  be- 
ginning. Let  us  call  him  back,  and  re-examine  him  at  all 
events. ' ' 

Now  Condy  had,  during  this  conversation,  been  discussing  the 
very  same  point  with  himself. 

"Bad  cess  forever  attend  you,  Stinton  agra,"  he  exclaimed, 
"  for  there's  something  surely  over  you — a  lucky  shot  from  be- 
hind a  hedge,  or  a  break -neck  fall  down  a  clilT,  or  something  of 
that  kind.  If  the  ould  boy  hadn't  his  croubs  hard  and  fast  in  you, 
you  wouldn't  let  me  walk  away  with  the  whiskey  anyhow.  Be- 
dad,  it's  well  I  thought  o'  the  Keerigans,  for  sure  enough  I  did 
hear  Barney  say  that  he  was  to  send  a  keg  in  to  him  this  week 
some  day;  and  he  didn't  think  I  knew  him  aither.  Faix,  it's 
many  a  long  day  since  I  knew  the  sharp  puss  of  him,  with  an 
eye  like  a  hawk.  But  what  if  they  folly  me,  and  do  up  all  ? 
Anywny,  I'll  prevint  them  from  having  suspicion  of  me  before  I 
go  a  toe  farther,  the  ugly  rips." 

He  instantly  wheeled  about,  a  moment  or  two  before  Stinton 
and  Cartwright  had  done  the  same,  for  the  purpose  of  sifting  him 
etiU  more  thoroughly,  so  that  they  found  him  meeting  them. 

"  Gintlemen,"  said  he,  "  how  do  I  kniw  that  aither  of  you  is 
Mr.  Stinton,  or  that  the  house  you  directed  me  to  is  his  ?  I  know 
that  if  the  wliiskey  doesn't  go  to  him  I  may  lave  the  counthry." 

*'  You  are  either  a  deeper  rogue  or  a  more  stupid  fool  than  I 


THE   GAUGER   OUTWITTED.  277 

took  you  to  be,"  observed  Stinton;  "  but  what  security  can  you 
give  us  that  you  will  leave  the  keg  safely  at  its  destination?" 

"  If  1  thought  you  were  Mr.  Stinton,  I'd  be  very  glad  to  lave 
the  whisV.ey  where  it  is,  and  even  do  without  my  breakfast. 
Gintleraen,  tell  me  the  truth,  bekase  I'd  only  be  murdhered  out 
of  the  face." 

*♦^Vhy,  you  idiot,"  said  thegauger,  losing  his  temper  and  sus- 
picions both  together,  "can't  you  go  to  the  town  and  inquire 
where  Mr.  Stinton  lives  ?" 

"Bcdad,  thm,  thrae  enough,  I  never  thought  of  that  at  all  at 
all;  but  I  beg  your  pardon,  gintlemen,  an'  I  hope  you  VFon't  be 
angry  Wid  me,  in  regard  that  it's  kilt  and  quartered  I'd  be  if  I 
let  myself  be  made  a  fool  of  by  anybody." 

"  Do  what  I  desire  you,"  said  the  exciseman;  "  inquire  for  Mr. 
Stinton's  house,  and  you  may  be  sure  that  the  whiskey  will  reach 
him." 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  Bedad,  I  might  have  thought  of  that  my- 
self." 

This  last  clause,  which  was  spoken  in  a  soliloquy,  would  have 
deceived  a  saint  himself. 

"Now,"  said  Stinton,  after  they  had  re-commenced  their 
journey,  "  are  you  satisfied?" 

"I  am  at  length,"  said  Cartwright;  "if  his  intentions  had 
been  dislionest  instead  of  returning  to  make  himself  certain 
against  being  deceived,  he  would  have  made  the  best  of  his  way 
from  us;  a  rogue  never  wantonly  puts  himself  in  the  way  of  dan- 
ger or  detection." 

That  evening,  about  five  o'clock,  Stinton,  Cartwright,  and  two 
others  arrived  at  the  house  of  the  worthy  gauger,  to  partake  of  his 
good  cheer.  A  cold  frosty  evening  gave  a  peculiar  zest  to  the  com- 
fort of  a  warm  room,  a  blazing  fire  and  a  good  dinner.  No  soon- 
er were  the  viands  discus&ed,  the  cloth  removed,  and  the  glasses 
ready,  than  their  generous  host  desire  1  his  daughter  to  assist  the 
servant  in  broaching  the  redoubtable  keg. 

"  That  keg,  my  dear,"  he  proceeded,  "  which  the  country  lad» 
who  brought  the  key  of  the  cellar,  left  here  to-day." 


27^  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS, 

"  A  keg  ?"  repeated  the  daughter  with  surprise. 

"Yes,  Maggy,  my  love — a  keg.     I  said  so,  I  think." 

'•  But,  papa,  there  came  no  keg  here  to-day." 

The  gauger  and  Cartwright  both  groaned  in  unison. 

"No  keg  ?"  said  the  gauger. 

"  No  keg?"  echoed  Cartwright. 

*«  No  keg,  indeed,"  re-echoed  Miss  Stinton;  "but  there  came 
a  country  boy  with  the  key  of  the  cellar,  as  a  token  that  he  was 
to  get  the  five  gallon " 

"Oh,"  groaned  the  gauger,  "I'm  knocked  up — outwitted; 
oh!" 

"Bought  and  sold,"  added  Cartwright. 

"  Go  on,"  said  the  gauger;   "  I  must  hear  it  out." 

"  As  a  token,"  proceeded  Miss  Stinton,  "that  he  was  to  get 
the  five  gallon  keg  on  the  little  stillion,  under  the  blunderbuss, 
for  Captain  Dalton." 

"And  he  got  it?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  got  it:  for  I  took  the  key  as  a  sufficient  token." 

"  But,  Maggy — hear  me  child — surely  he  brought  a  keg  here, 
and  left  it;  and  of  course  it's  in  the  cellar  ?" 

"  No,  indeed,  he  brought  no  keg  here;  but  he  did  bring  the 
five  gallon  one  that  was  in  the  cellar  away  with  him." 

"Stinton,"  said  Cartwright,  "send  round  the  bottle.',' 

'•The  rascal,"  ejaculated  the  gauger;  "  we  shall  drink  his 
healti." 

Ami  on  relating  the  circumstances,  the  company  drank  the 
sheepish  lad's  health,  that  bought  and  sold  the  gauger. 


THE    IRISH    MIDWIFE.  ^         ij^ 


THE    IRISH    MIDWIFE. 


The  village  of  Ballycomaisy  was  as  pleasant  a  little  place  as 
CMis  might  wish  to  see  of  a  summer's  day.  It  consisted  princi- 
pally (  f  one  Ijnj  street,  which  you  entered  from  the  north-west 
side  by  one  of  those  old-fashioned  bridges,  the  arches  of  which 
w\irc  ma- Ii  more  akin  to  the  Gothic  than  the  Roman.  Most  of 
tvi:  h'juscd  \vcr2  of  mud,  a  few  of  stone,  one  or  two  of  which  had 
tit;  h;incr  of  being  slated  on  the  front  side  of  the  roof,  and  rus- 
tll'illy  ;h  itched  on  the  back,  where  ostentation  was  not  neces- 
sar/.  Therj  were  two  or  three  shops,  a  liberal  sprinkling  of 
public -houses,  a  chapel  a  little  out  of  the  town,  and  an  old  di- 
lapidated market-house  near  the  centre.  A  few  little  by -streets 
prcjeclcd  in  a  lateral  direction  from  the  main  one,  which  was  ter- 
minated on  the  side  opposite  to  the  north-west  by  a  pound, 
through  which,  as  usual,  ran  a  shallow  stream,  that  was  gathered 
lii'.o  a  little  gutter  as  it  crossed  the  road,  A  crazy  antiquated 
ii.r.1,  all  covered  and  cobwcbbed  with  gr?.y  mealy  dust,  stood 
about  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  out  of  the  town,  to  which  two 
siraggling  rows  of  hou;cs,  that  looked  like  a.i  abortive  street, 
h,J  you.  This  mill  was  surrounded  by  a  green  common,  wliich 
was  a^aiu  hemmed  in  by  a  fine  river,  that  ran  round  in  a  curving 
line  fro.a  under  the  hunchbacked  arc!i  of  tlie  bridge  wc  men- 
tioned ct  the  beginning.  Nov/,  a  little  behind,  or  rather  above 
this  mill,  on  the  skirt  of  the  aforesaid  common,  stood  a  rather 
lieat-Juoking  whitish  cabin,  with  abjut  half  a  rjod  of  garden 
benmd  it.  It  was  but  small,  and  consisted  merely  of  a  sleeping- 
room  and  kitchen.  On  one  side  of  the  dojr  was  a  window, 
opening  on  hinges;  and  on  the  outside,  to  the  right  as  you  en- 


28o  THE    ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

tered  the  house,  there  was  placed  a  large  stone  about  four  feet 
liigK,  backed  by  a  sloping  mound  of  earth,  so  graduated  as  to 
allow  a  person  to  ascend  the  slone  without  any  difficulty.  In 
this  cabin  lived  Rose  Moan,  the  Midwife;  and  we  need  scarcely 
inform  our  readers  that  the  stone  in  question  was  her  mounting- 
stone,  by  which  she  was  enabled  to  place  herself  on  pillion  or 
crupper,  as  the  case  happened,  when  called  out  upon  her  usual 
avocation. 

Rose  was  what  might  be  called  3.Jlahoo/a^/i,  or  portly  woman, 
with  a  good-humored  set  of  Milesian  features;  that  is  to  say,  a 
pair  of  red,  broad  cheeks,  a  well-set  nose,  allowing  for  the  dis- 
position to  turn  up,  and  two  black  twinkling  eyes,  with  a  mel- 
low expression  that  betokened  good  nature,  and  a  peculiar  de- 
scription of  \^no\\\ng  professional  \m\\\o'[  that  is  never  to  be  met 
with  in  any  but  one  of  her  calling.  Rose  was  dressed  in  a  red 
flannel  petticoat,  a  warm  cotton  sack  or  wrapper,  which  pinned 
easily  over  a  large  bust,  and  a  comfortable  woolen  shawl.  She 
always  wore  a  long-bordered  morning  cap,  over  which,  while 
traveling,  she  pinned  a  second  shawl  of  Scotch  plaid;  and  to  pro- 
tect her  from  the  cold  night  air,  she  enfolded  her  precious  person 
in  a  deep  blue  cloak  of  the  true  indigo  tint.  Over  her  head, 
over  cloak  and  shawl  and  morning  cap,  was  fixed  a  black 
"splush  hat,"  willi  tlie  leaf  strapped  down  by  lier  ears  on  each 
side,  so  that  in  point  of  fxct  slie  cared  little  how  it  blew,  and 
never  once  dreamed  that  such  a  process  as  that  vi  Raper  or 
Mackintosh  was  necessary  to  keep  the  liege  subjects  of  these 
realms  warm  and  watcr-proi  f,  nor  that  two  systems  could  exist 
in  Ireland  so  strongly  antithetical  to  each  other  as  those  of  Raper 
and  Father  Mathcw. 

Having  thus  given  a  brief  sketch  of  her  local  habitation  and 
personal  appearance,  we  shall  transfer  our  readers  to  the  house  of 
a  young  new-married  farmer  named  Keho,  who  lived  in  a  dis- 
tant part  of  the  parish.  Keho  was  a  comfortable  fellow,  full  of 
goodnature  and  credulity;  but  his  wife  happened  to  be  one  of 
the  sharpest,  meanest,  most  suspicious  and  miserable  individuals 
that  ever  was  raised  in  good-humored  Irelamd,     Her  voice  was  as 


THE   IRISH   MIDWIFE.  281 

sharp  and  her  heart  as  cold  as  an  icicle;  and  as  for  her  tongue,  it 
wa.?  incessant  and  inteiTninable.  Were  it  not  that  her  husband, 
who,  though  good-natured,  was  fiery  and  resolute  when  pro- 
voked, exercised  a  firm  and  salutary  control  over  her,  she  would 
have  slarvetl  both  him  and  her  servants  into  perfect  skeletons. 
And  what  was  still  worse,  with  a  temper  that  was  vindictive  and 
tyrannical,  she  affected  to  be  religious,  and  upon  those  who  did 
not  know  her,  actually  attempted  to  put  herself  off  as  a  saint. 

One  night,  about  twelve  months  after  his  marriage,  honest 
Corny  Kelio-<ame  out  to  the  barn,  where  slept  his  two  farm  ser- 
vanis,  named  Phil  Hannigan  and  Bamy  Casey.  He  had  been 
sitting  by  himse'f,  composing  his  mind  for  a  calm  night's  rest,  or 
probably  for  a  curtahi  lecture,  by  taking  a  contemplative  whiff  of 
t'.ie  pipe,  when  the  servant  wench,  with  a  certain  air  of  hurry, 
importance  and  authority,  entered  the  kitchen,  and  informed  him 
that  Rose  Moan  must  be  immediately  sent  for. 

"ITie  misthress  isn'c  well,  masther,  an'  the  sooner  she's  sint 
for,  the  be:tlKr.  So  mind  my  words,  sir,  if  you  plaise,  an' 
pack  aff  either  Phil  or  Bamy  for  Rose  Moan,  an'  I  hope  I  won't 
have  to  ax  it  again — hem  !" 

Dandy  Keho— for  so  Corny  was  called,  as  being  remarkable 
for  his  slovenliness — started  up  hastily,  and  having  taken  the 
pipe  out  of  his  mouth,  was  about  to  place  it  on  the  hob;  but  re- 
flecting that  the  whiff  could  net  much  retard  him  in  the  delivery 
of  hJa  orders,  he  sallied  out  to  the  barn  and  knocked. 

"  ^^^lo's  there  ?  Lave  that  wid  you,  unless  you  wish  to  be 
shotted."     This  was  followed  by  a  loud  laugh  from  within. 

"  Boys,  get  up  wid  all  haste:  it's  the  misthress.  Phil,  saddle 
Hollowback  and  fly — (pufi) — fly  in  a  jiffy  for  Rose  Moan;  an'  do 
yon,  Bamy,  clap  a-back  sugaun— (puff) — an  Sobersides,  an'  be  aff 
for  t'.c  mistliress's  mother — (puff.)" 

BoLh  were  dressing  themselves  before  he  had  concluded,  and  in 
a  very  few  mi;iules  were  off  in  different  directions,  each  accord- 
ing to  the  orders  he  had  received.  With  Barny  we  have  nothing 
to  do,  unless  t  j  say  that  he  lost  little  time  in  bringing  Mrs.  Keho's 
mother  to  her  aid:  Lut  as  Phil  is  gone  for  a  much  more  import- 


aSa  THE  zoziMus  papers. 

ant  character,  we  teg  our  readers  to  return  with  us  to  the  cabin 
of  Rose  Moau,  who  is  now  fast  asleep;  for  it  is  twelve  o'clock  of 
a  beautiful  moonlight  night,  in  th^  pleasant  month  of  August. 
Tap-lap.  "  Is  Mrs.  Moan  at  home?"  In  about  half  a  minute 
her  warm,  good-looking  face,  enveloped  in  flannel,  is  protruded 
from  the  win  J  aw. 

"WTio's  tliat,  z'«  GoTs  tiuiu?''  The  words  in  italics  were 
added,  lest  the  message-  might  be  one  from  the  fairies. 

"  I'm  Dan;'.y  Keho's.  s  rv.int — one  of  them,  at  any  rate — an' 
my  mibthre^is  hxs  got  a  stitch  in  her  side— ha  !  ha  !  ha  !" 

"  Aisy,  avick— so,  she's  dcnun,  thin — aisy — I'll  be  wid  you  like 
a  bow  out  of  an  arrow.  Put  your  horse  over  to  'the  stone,'  an' 
have  him  ready.  The  Lord  bring  her  over  her  difficulties,  any 
way,  amin  ! ' ' 

She  then  pulled  in  her  head,  and  in  about  three  or  four  minutes 
sallied  out,  dressed  as  we  have  described  her;  and  having  placed 
herself  on  the  crupper,  coolly  put  her  right  arm  round  Phil's 
botiy,  and  desired  him  to  ride  on  with  all  possible  haste. 

*'  Push  an,  avouchal,  push  an — time's  precious  at  all  times, 
but  on  business  like  this  every  minute  is  worth  a  life.  But 
there's  always  one  comfort,  that  God  is  marciful.  Push  forrid 
avick." 

«' Ne\'cr  fear,  Mrs.  Moan.  If  it's  in  Ilollowback,  bed.id,  I'm 
the  babe  that'll  take  it  out  of  him.  Come,  ould  Ilackball,  trot 
out — you  don't  know  the  message  you're  an,  nor  who  you're 
cacrjul'." 

"  Lin't  your  misthrcss — mauin'  the  Dandy's  wife— a  daugh- 
ther  of  ould  Fitzy  Finnegan's,  the  schrew  of  Glendhu  ?" 

•'  Faith,  you  may  say  that.  Rose,  as  we  all  know  to  our  cost. 
Be  me   song,  she  docs  have  us  so.netimes  that  you  might  see 

Cirouijh  us;  an'  only  for  the  masthcr but,  dang  it,  no  mat- 

ther — s'si's  down  now,  poor  woman,  an'  it's  not  just  the  time  to 
be  rakin'  up  her  failin's." 

"It  is  not,  an'  God  mark  you  to  grace  for  sayin' so.  At  a 
fime  like  this  we  mast  forget  everything,  only  to  do  the  best  we 
can  for  our  fellow-creatures.     What  arc  you  lookin'  at,  avick?" 


THE    IRISH    MIDWIFE.  283 

Now  this  .juestion  naturally  arose  from  the  fact  that  honest 
Phil  had  l«;en,  during  their  short  conversation,  peering  keenly 
on  each  side  of  him,  as  if  he  expected  an  apparition  to  rise  from 
every  furze-bush  on  the  common.  The  truth  is,  he  was  almost 
proverbial  for  his  terror  of  ghosts  and  fairies,  and  all  supernatural 
visitants  whatever;  but  upon  this  occasion  his  fears  arose  to  a 
painful  height,  in  consequence  of  the  popular  belief,  that  when  a 
midwife  is  sent  for,  the  Good  People  throw  every  possible  ob- 
struction in  her  way,  either  by  laming  the  horse,  if  she  rides,  or 
by  disqualifying  the  guide  from  performing  his  duty  as  such. 
Phil,  however,  felt  ashamed  to  avow  his  fears  on  these  points,  but 
still  could  not  help  unconsciously  turning  the  conversation  to  the 
very  to^^ic  he  ought  to  have  avoided. 

"What  war  you  looking  at,  avick?"         * 

"Why,  bedad,  tliere  appeared  something  there  beyant,  like  a 
man,  only  h  was  darker.  But  be  this  and  be  that — hem,  ahem ! 
— if  I  could  get  my  hands  on  him,  whatsomever  he " 

"  Hushtii,  boy,  hould  your  tongue;  you  don't  know  but  it's 
the  very  word  you  war  goin'  to  say  might  do  us  harm." 

"  Wiiatsomever  he  is,  that  I'd  give  him  a  lift  on  Hollow- 
back  if  he  happened  to  be  any  poor  fellow  that  stood  in  need  of 
it.  Oh  !  the  sorra  word  I  was  goin'  to  say  against  anything  or 
anybody." 

"You're  right,  dear.  If  you  knew  as  much  as  I  could  tell 
you — push  an — you'd  have  a  dlirop  o'  sweat  at  the  ind  of  every 
hair  on  your  hea^l." 

''  Be  my  song,  I'm  tould  you  know  a  power  o'  quare  things, 
Mi-s.  Moan;  an'  if  all  that's  said  is  thrue,  you  sartinly  do." 

Now,  had  Mrs.  Moan  and  her  heroic  guide  passed  through  the 
village  of  Ballycomaisy,  the  latter  would  not  have  felt  his  fears 
so  strong  upon  him.  The  road,  however,  along  which  they  were 
now  goi:ig  waj  a  grass-grown  bohrcen,  that  led  them  from  behind 
her  cabin  through  a  waste  and  lonely  part  of  the  country;  and  as 
it  was  a  saving  of  better  than  two  m'.les  in  point  of  distance,  Mrs. 
Moan  would  not  hear  of  their  proceeding  by  any  other  direction. 
The  tenor  of  her  conversation,  however,  was  fast  bringing  Phil 
to  the  state  she  so  graphically  and  pithily  described. 


284  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

"What's  your  name?"  she  asked. 

"  Phil  Haiinigan,  a  son  of  fat  Phil's  of  Balnasaggart,  an*  a 
cousin  to  Paddy  who  lost  a  finger  in  tbe  Gansy  (Guernsey)  wars." 
"I  kaow.     Well,  Phil,  inthroththe  hairs  'ml  stand  like  stalks 
o'  barley  tipon  your  head,  if  you  heard  all  I  cuuld  mintion." 

Phil  instinctively  put  his  hand  up  and  pressed  down  his  hat, 
as  if  it  had  been  disposed  to  fly  from  off  his  head. 

"  Hem  I  ahera !  Why,  I'm  tould  it's  wonderful.  But  is  it 
thrue,  Mr*.  Moan,  that  you  have  been  brought  on  business  to 
some  o'  the  " — here  Phil  looked  about  him  cautiously,  and  low- 
ered his  voice  to  a  whisper^"  to  some  o'  the  fairy  women  ?" 

"  Husth,  man  alive — what  the  sorra  timpted  you  to  call  them 
anything  but  the  Good  People  ?  This  day 's  Thursday — God 
stand  betune  us  an'  harm.  No,  Phil,  I  name  nobody.  But 
there  was  a  woman,  a  midwife — mind,  avick,  that  I  don't  say 
who  she  was — maybe  I  know  why,  too,  an'  maybe  it  would  be 
as  much  as  my  life  is  worths" 

"  Aisey,  Mrs.  Moan  !  God  presarve  us  !  what  is  that  tall 
thing  there  to  the  right?"  and  he  commenced  to  pray  in  Irish  as 
fast  as  he  could  get  out  the  words. 

"Why,  don't  you  see,  boy,  it's  a  fir-tree,  but  sorra  movin'  it's 
movin'." 

"Ay,  faix,  an'  so  it  is;  bedad  I  thought  it  was  gettin'  taller 
an'  taller.     Aye  !  hut !  it  is  only  a  tree." 

"  Well,  dear,  there  was  a  woman,  an'  she  was  called  away 
one  night  by  a  little  gentleman  dressed  in  green.  I'll  tell  you 
the  story  some  time — only  this,  that  havin'  done  her  duly,  an' 
tuck  no  payment,  she  was  called  out  the  same  night  to  a  neigh- 
bor's wife,  an'  a  purtier  boy  you  couldn't  see  than  she  left  behind 
her.  But  it  seems  she  happened  to  touch  one  of  his  eyes  wid  a 
hand  that  had  a  taste  o{  their  ]>anado  an  it;  an'  as  the  child  grew 
up,  every  one  wondhered  to  hear  him  speak  of  the  multitudes  o' 
thim  that  lie  seen  in  all  directions.  Well,  my  djar,  he  kept 
never  sayin'  anything  to  them  until  one  day  when  he  was  in  the 
fair  of  Ballycomaisy,  that  he  saw  them  whippin'  away  meal  and 
cotton  and  butther,  an'  everytliing  that  they  thought  serviceable  to 


THE    IRISH    MIDWIFE.  285 

them;  so  you  see  he  could  hold  iu  no  longer,  an'  says  he  to  a  little 
fellow  that  was  very  active  an'  thievish  among  them,  'Why  do 
you  tak*  wlnt  doesn't  belong  to  you  ?'  says  he.  The  little  fellow 
Foohc-l  U  >  r.':  him — " 

"Gxi  L"  about  us,  Rose,  what  is  that  white  thing  goin'  along 
the  ditch  to  the  left  of  us?" 

"It's  a  sheep,  don't  you  see  ?  Faix,  I  believe  you're  cowardly 
at  night." 

"  Avfi,  faix,  an'  so  it  is,  but  it  looked  very  quare  somehow." 

♦  — An'  says  he,  '  Mow  do  you  know  that  ?'  •  Bekase  I  see  you 
all,' says  the  other.  '  An' which  eye  do  you  see  us  all  wid?' 
says  be  again.  '  Why,  wid  the  left,'  says  the  boy.  Wid  that  he 
gave  a  short  whiff  of  a  blast  up  into  the  eye,  an'  from  that  day 
not  a  stime  the  poor  boy  was  never  able  to  see  wid  it.  No,  Phil, 
I  didn't  say  it  was  myself — I  named  iwbody.''^ 

«' An',  Mrs.  Moan,  is  it  thrue  that  you  can  put  the  dughaughs 
tipon  them  that  trate  their  wives  badly  ?" 

"Whisht,  Phil.  When  you  marry,  keep  your  timper — that's 
all.     You  knew  long  Ned  Donnelly  ?" 

"Aye,  bedad,  sure  enough;  there  was  quare  things  said 
about — " 

"Push  an,  avick,  push  an;  for  who  knows  how  some  of  us  is 
wanted  ?  You  have  a  good  masther,  I  believe,  Phil  ?  It's  poison 
the  same  Ned  would  give  me  if  he  could.     Push  an,  dear." 

Phil  felt  that  he  had  got  his  answer.  The  abrupt  mystery  of 
her  manner  and  her  curt  allusions  left  him  little  indeed  to  guess 
at.  In  this  way  did  tha  conversation  continue,  Phil  feloniously 
filching,  as  he  thouglit,  from  her  own  lips,  a  corroboration  of  the 
various  knowledge  and  extraordinary  powers  which  she  was  be- 
lieved to  possess,  and  she  ingeniously  feeding  his  credulity, 
merely  by  enigmatical  hints  and  masked  allusions;  for  although 
she  took  care  to  affirm  nothing  directly  or  personally  of  herself, 
yet  did  she  contrive  to  answer  him  in  such  a  manner  as  to  con- 
firm every  report  that  had  gone  abroad  of  the  strange  purposes 
she  could  effect. 

"Phil,  wasn't  there  an  uncle  o'  yours  up  in  the  Mountain  Bar 
that  didn't  live  happily  for  some  time  wid  his  wife  ?" 


286  THE  ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"I  believe  so,  Rose;,  but  it  was  before  my  lime,  or  any  way 
when  I  was  only  a  young  shaver. ' ' 

"An' did  you  ever  hear  how  the  reconcilement  came  betune 
them?" 

"No,  bedad,"  repliel  Phil,  "I  never  did;  an'  that's  no  won- 
dher,  for  it  was  a  thing  they  never  liked  to  spake  of." 

"  Throth,  it's  thrue  for  you,  boy.  Well,  I  brought  about — 
— push  an,  dear,  push  an.  They're  as  happy  a  couple  now  as 
breaks  bread,  any  way,  and  that's  all  they  wanted." 

"  I'd  wager  a  thirteen  it  was  you  did  that.  Rose." 

"  Hut,  gorsoon,  hould  your  tongue.     Sure  they're  happy  now, 
I  say,  whosomever  did  it.     I  named  nolx)dy,  nor  I  take  no  pride- 
to  myself,  Phil,  out  o'  sich  things.     Some  people's  gifted  above 
others,  an'  that's  all.     But,  Phil  ?" 

"Well,  ma'am?" 

"How  does  the  Dandy  an'  his  scald  of  a  wife  agree?  for, 
throth,  I'm  tould  she's  nothing  else." 

"  Faix,  but  niiddlin'  itself.  As  I  tould  you,  she  often  has  us 
as  empty  as  a  paper  lanthem,  wid  sarra  a  thing  but  tlie  lig'U  of  a 
good  conscience  inside  of  us.  If  we  pray  ourselves,  bcgoiia  she'll 
take  care  we'll  have  the  fastin'  at  first  cost;  so  that  you  see, 
ma'am,  we  hould  a  devout  situation  undher  her." 

"  An'  so  that's  the  way  wid  you  ?" 

*' Aye,  the  downright  thruth,  an*  no  mistake.  Why,  the  stir- 
about she  makes  would  run  nine  miles  along  a  deal  board,  an' 
Bcald  a  man  at  the  far  end  of  it." 

"Throth,  Phil,  I  never  like  to  go  next  or  near  sich  women  or 
sich  rlaces,  but  for  the  sake  o'  the  innocent  we  must  forget  the 
guilty.  So  push  an,  avick,  push  an.  Wlio  knows  but  it's  life 
an'  death  wid  us  ?     Have  you  ne'er  a  spur  on  ?" 

"  Oh  !  not  a  spur  I  tuck  time  to  wait  for. " 

"  Well,  afther  all,  it's  not  right  to  let  a  messenger  come  for  a 
woman  like  me,  widout  what  is  called  the  Midwife's  Spur— a  spur 
in  the  head  —for  it  has  long  been  said  that  one  in  the  head  is 
worth  two  in  the  heel,  an'  so  indeed  it  is — on  business  like  this, 
any  way." 


THE    IRISH   MIDWIFE.  287 

"Mrs.  Moan,  do  you  know  the  Moriartys  of  Ballaghmore, 
ma'am  ?" 

"  \yiiich  o'  them,  honey  ?" 

"  Mick  o'  the  Esker  Beg." 

**  To  be  sure  I  do.  A  well-favored,  dacint  family  they  are,  an' 
full  o'  the  world,  too,  the  Lord  spare  it  to  them." 

"  Bedad,  they  are,  ma'am,  a  well-favored*  family.  Well, 
ma'am,  isn't  it  odd,  but  somehow  there's  neither  man,  woman, 
nor  child  in  the  parish  but  gives  you  the  good  word  above  all  the 
women  in  it;  but  as  for  a  midwife,  why,  I  heard  my  aunt  say  that 
if  ever  mother  an'  child  owended  their  lives  to  another,  she  did 
her  and  the  babby's  to  you." 

The  reader  may  here  perceive  that  Phil's  flattery  must  have  had 
some  peculiar  design  in  it,  in  connection  with  the  Moriartys,  and 
such  indeed  was  the  fact.  But  we  had  better  allow  him  to  ex- 
plain matters  himself. 

"Well,  honey,  sure  that  was  but  my  duty;  but  God  be  praised 
for  all,  for  everything  depinds  on  the  Power  above.  She  should 
call  in  one  o'  those  new-fangled  women  who  take  out  their  Dis- 
patches from  the  College  in  Dublin  below;  for  you  see,  Phil, 
there  is  sich  a  place  there — an'  it  stands  to  raison  that  there 
should  bs  a  Fondlin'  Flospital  beside  it,  which  theie  is  too,  they 
say;  but,  honey,  what  are  these  poor  ignorant  cratures  but  new 
lights,  ivery  oneo'  thim,  that  a  dacint  woman's  life  isn't  safe  wid  ?" 

"  To  be  sure,  Mrs.  Moan;  an'  every  one  knows  they're  not  to 
be  put  in  comparishment  wid  a  woman  like  you,  that  knows  sich 
a  power.  But  how  does  it  happen,  ma'am,  that  the  Moriartys 
does  be  spakin'  but  middlin'  of  you  ?" 

"  Of  me,  avick?" 

"  Aye,  faix ;  I'm  tould  they  spread  the  mouth  at  you  sometimes, 
espishily  when  the  people  does  be  talkin'  about  all  the  quare 
things  you  can  do." 

"Well,  well,  dear,  let  them  have  their  laugh — they  may  laugh 
that  win,  you  know.     Still  one  doesn't  like  to  be  provoked — no 

mdeed .  "^ 

♦This  term  ia  Ireland  means  "  handsome  " — "  good-looking." 


200  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

"Faix,  an'  Mick  Moriarty  has  a  purty  daughter,  Mrs.  Moan, 
an'  a  purty  penny  he  can  give  her,  by  all  accounts.  The  nerra 
one  o'  myself  but  would  be  glad  to  put  my  comedhcr  on  her,  if 
Iknew  how.    Ihope  you  find  yourself  aisy  on  your  sate,  ma'am  ?" 

"I  do,  honey.  Let  them  talk,  Phil,  let  them  talk;  it  may 
come  their  turn  yet — only  I  didn't  expect  it  from  /Acm.  You  ! 
hut,  avick,  what  chance  would  you  have  with  Mick  Moriarty's 
daughter?" 

"Aye,  every  chance  an'  sartinty  too,  if  some  one  that  I  know, 
and  that  every  one  that  knows  her  respects,  would  only  give  me 
a  lift.  There's  no  use  in  comin'  about  the  bush,  Mrs.  Moan — 
bedad  it's  yourself  I  mane.  You  could  do  it.  An'  whisper,  be- 
tune  you  aiV  me  it  would  be  only  sarvin'  them  right,  in  regard 
of  the  way  they  spake  of  you — sayin'  indeed,  an'  galivantin' 
to  the  world  that  you  know  no  more  than  another  woman,  an' 
that  ould  Pol  Doolin  of  Ballymagowan  knows  oceans  more  than 
you  do." 

This  was  perhaps  as  artful  a  plot  as  could  be  laid  for  engaging 
the  assistance  of  Mrs.  Moan  in  Phil's  design  upon  Moriarty's 
daughter.  He  knew  perfectly  well  that  she  would  not,  unless 
strongly  influenced,  lend  herself  to  anything  of  the  kind  between 
two  persons  whose  circumstances  in  life  differed  so  widely  as  those 
of  a  respectable  farmer's  daughter  with  a  good  portion,  and  a 
penniless  laboring  boy.  With  great  adroitness,  therefore,  he 
contrived  to  excite  her  prejudices  against  them  by  the  most  suc- 
cessful arguments  he  could  possibly  use,  namely,  a  contempt  for 
her  imputed  knowledge,  and  prakse  of  her  rival.  Still  she  was 
in  the  liabit  of  acting  coolly,  and  less  from  impulse  than  from  a 
shrewd  knowledge  of  the  best  way  to  sustain  her  own  reputation, 
without  undertaking  too  much. 

"  Well,  honey,  an'  so  you  wish  me  to  assist  you?  Maybe  I 
could  do  it,  and  maybe — but  push  an,  dear,  move  him  an;  we'll 
think  of  it,  an'  spake  more  about  it  some  other  time.  I  must 
think  of  what's  afore  me  now — so  move,  move,  acushla;  push 
an." 


THE    IRISH   MIDWIFE.  289 

Much  conversation  of  the  same  nature  took  place  between 
Ihem,  in  which  each  bore  a  somewhat  characteristic  part;  for  to 
say  tTie  truth,  Phil  was  as  knowing  a  "  boy"  as  you  might  wish 
to  become  acquainted  with.  In  Rose,  however,  he  had  a  woman 
of  no  ordmary  shrewdness  to  encounter;  and  the  consequence 
was,  that  each  after  a  little  more  chat  began  to  undei'stand  the 
other  a  little  too  well  to  render  the  topic  of  the  Moriartys,  to 
which  Phil  again  reverted,  so  interesting  as  it  had  been.  Rose 
soon  saw  that  Phil  was  only  a  plastluy,  or  sweetener,  and  oftly 
"soothered"  her  for  his  own  purposes;  and  Phil  perceived  that 
Rose  understood  his  tactics  too  well  to  render  any  further  tam- 
pering with  her  vanity  either  safe  or  successful. 

At  length  they  arrived  at  Dandy  Keho's  house,  and  in  a  mo- 
ment the  Dandy  himself  took  her  in  his  arms,  and,  placmg  her 
gently  on  the  ground,  shook  hands  with  and  cordially  welcomed 
her.  It  is  very  singular,  but  no  less  true,  that  the  moment  a  mid- 
wife enters  the  house  of  her  patient,  she  always  uses  the  plural 
number,  whether  speaking  in  her  own  person  or  in  that  of  the 
former. 

"You're  welcome,  Rose,  an'  I'm  proud  an'  happy  to  see  you 
here,  an'  it'll  make  poor  Bridget  strong,  an'  give  her  courage,  to 
know  you're  near  her." 

"  How  are  we.  Dandy  ?  how  are  we,  avick?" 

"  Oh,  bedad,  middlin',  wishin'  very  much  for  you,  of  coorse, 
as  I  hear — " 

"  Well,  honey,  go  away  now.  I  have  some  words  to  say  afore 
I  go  in,  that'll  sarve  us,  maybe — a  charm  it  is  that  has  great  var- 
tue  in  it. ' ' 

The  Dandy  tlien  withdrew  to  the  barn,  where  the  male  portion 
of  the  family  were  staying  until  the  ultimatum  should  be  known. 
A  good  bottle  of  potteen,  however,  was  circulating  among  them, 
for  every  one  knows  that  occasions  of  this  nature  usually  generate 
a  festive  and  hospitable  spirit. 

******* 

In  the  bam  the  company  were  very  merry,  Dandy  himself  be- 
ing as  pleasant  as  any  of  them,  unless  when  his  brow  becam* 


290  THE  ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

shaded  by  the  very  natural  anxiety  for  the  welfare  of  his  wife  and 
child,  which  from  time  to  time  returned  upon  him.  Stories  were 
told,  songs  sung,  and  jokes  passed,  all  full  of  good  nature  and 
not  a  little  fun,  some  of  it  at  the  expense  of  the  Dandy  himself, 
who  laughed  at  and  took  it  all  in  good  part.  An  occasional 
bulletin  came  out  through  a  servant  maid,  that  matters  were  just 
the  same  way;  a  piece  of  intelligence  which  damped  Keho's  mirth 
considerably.  At  length  he  himself  was  sent  for  by  the  Midwife, 
who  wished  to  speak  with  him  at  the  door. 

*'  I  hope  there's  nothing  like  danger.  Rose  ?" 

"Not  at  all,  honey;  but  the  truth  is,  we  want  a  seventh  son 
who  isn't  left-handed." 

"A  seventh  son  !     \\Tiy,  what  do  you  want  him  for  ?" 

"  Why,  dear,  just  to  give  her  three  shakes  in  his  arms;  it  never 
faUs." 

•'Bedad,  an'  that's  fortunate ;  for  there's  Mickey  M'Sorley  of 
the  Broad  Bog's  a  seventh  son,  an'  he's  not  two  gunshots  from 
this." 

"  Well,  aroon,  hurry  off  one  or  two  o'  the  boys  for  him,  and 
tell  Phil,  if  he  makes  haste,  that  I'll  have  a  word  to  say  to  him 
afore  I  go." 

This  intimation  to  Phil  put  feathers  to  his  heels;  for  from  the 
moment  that  he  and  Barny  started,  he  did  not  once  cease  to  go 
at  the  top  of  his  speed.  It  followed  as  a  matter  of  course  that 
honest  Mickey  M'Sorley  dressed  himself  and  was  back  at  Keho's 
house  before  the  family  believed  it  possible  the  parties  could  have 
been  there.  This  ceremony  of  getting  a  seventh  son  to  shake  the 
sick  woman,  in  cases  where  difficulty  or  danger  may  be  appre- 
hended, is  one  which  frequently  occurs  in  remote  parts  of  the 
country.  To  be  sure,  it  is  only  a  form,  the  man  merely  taking 
her  in  his  arms,  and  moving  her  gently  three  times.  The  writer 
of  this,  when  young,  saw  it  performed  with  his  own  eyes,  as  the 
saying  is;  but  in  his  case  the  man  was  not  a  seventh  son,  for  no 
such  person  could  be  procured.  When  this  difficulty  arises,  any 
man  who  hxs  the  character  of  being  lucky,  provided  he  is  not 
married  to  a  red-haired  wife,  may  be  called  in  to  give  the  three 


THE   IRISH    MIDWIFE.  29I 

•hakes.  In  other  and  more  dangerous  cases  Rose  would  send 
out  persons  to  gather  half  a  dozen  heads  of  blasted  barley,  and, 
having  stripped  them  of  the  black  fine  powder  with  which  they 
were  covered,  she  would  administer  it  in  a  little  new  milk,  and 
this  was  always  attended  by  the  best  effects.  It  is  somewhat  sur- 
prising that  the  whole  Faculty  should  have  adopted  this  singular 
medicine  in  cases  of  similar  difficulty,  for  in  truth  it  is  that  which 
is  now  administered  under  the  more  scientific  name  of  Ergot  of 
Rye.  • 

In  the  case  before  us,  the  seventh  son  sustained  his  reputation 
for  good  luck.  In  about  three-quarters  of  an  hour  Dandy  was 
called  in  "to  kiss  a  strange  young  gintleman  that  wanted  to  see 
him."  This  was  an  agreeable  ceremony  to  Dandy,  as  it  always 
is  to  catch  the  first  glimpse  of  one's  own  first-bom.  On  entering 
he  found  Rose  sitting  beside  the  bed  in  all  the  pomp  of  authority 
arid  pride  of  success,  bearing  the  infant  in  her  arms,  and  dan- 
dling it  up  and  down,  more  from  habit  than  any  necessity  that 
then  existed  for  doing  so. 

"Well,"  said  she,  "here  we  are  all  safe  and  sound,  God 
willin';  an'  if  you're  not  the  father  of  as  purty  a  yomig  man  as 
ever  I  laid  eyes  on,  I'm  not  here.  Corny  Kelio,  coma  an'  kiss 
your  son,  I  say." 

Corny  advanced,  somewhat  puzzled  whether  to  laugh  or  cry, 
and  taking  the  child  up  with  a  smile,  he  kissed  it  five  times — for 
that  is  the  mystic  number — and  as  he  placed  it  once  more  in 
Rose's  arms,  there  was  a  solitary  tear  on  his  cheek. 

"  Arra,  go  an'  kiss  your  wife,  man  alive,  an'  tell  her  to  have  a 
good  heart,  an'  to  be  as  kind  to  all  her  fellow-creatures  as  God 
has  been  to  her  this  night.  It  isn't  upon  this  world  the  heart 
ought  to  be  fixed,  for  we  see  how  small  a  thing  and  how  short  a 
time  can  take  us  out  of  it." 

"Oh,  bedad,"  said  Dandy,  who  had  now  recovered  the  touch 
of  feeling  excited  by  the  child,  "it  would  be  too  bad  if  I  would 
grudge  her  a  smack."  He  accordingly  stooped  and  kissed  her; 
but,  truth  to  confess,  he  did  it  with  a  very  cool  and  business-like 


2gi  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

air.  •'  I  know,"  he  proceeded,  "  that  she'll  have  a  heart  like  a 
jyant,  now  that  the  son  is  come." 

"To  be  sure  she  will,  an'  she  must;  or  if  not,  77/  play  the 
sorra,  an'  break  things.  Well,  well,  let  her  get  strength  a  bit 
first,  an'  rest  an'  quiet;  an'  in  the  meantime  get  the  groanin'- 
malt  ready,  until  every  one  in  the  house  drinks  the  health  of  the 
stranger.  My  soul  to  happiness,  but  he's  a  bom  beauty.  The 
nerra  Keho  of  you  all  never  was  the  aiquails  of  what  he'll  be  yet, 
plaise  God.  Troth,  Corny,  nfe  has  daddy's  nose  upon  him,  any 
how.  Aye,  you  may  laugh;  but,  faix,  it's  thrue.  You  may  take 
with  him,  you  may  own  to  him,  anywhere.  Arra,  look  at  that ! 
My  soul  to  happiness  if  one  egg's  liker  another  I  Eh,  my  posey  ! 
Where  was  it,  alanna  ?  Aye,  you're  there,  my  duck  o'  diamonds  ! 
Troth,  you'll  be  the  flower  o'  the  flock,  so  you  will.  An'  now, 
Mrs.  Keho,  honey,  we'll  lave  you  to  yourself  awhile,  till  we 
thrate  these  poor  cratures  of  sarvints;  the  likes  o'  them  oughtn't 
to  be  overlooked;  an'  indeed  they  did  feel  a  great  deal  itself, 
poor  things,  about  you;  an'  moreover  they'll  be  longin'  of  coorse 
to  see  the  darlin'  here." 

Mrs.  Keho's  mother  and  Rose  superintended  the  birth-treat  be- 
tween them.  It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  the  young  men  and 
girls  had  their  own  sly  fun  upon  the  occasion  ;  and  now  that 
Dandy's  apprehension  of  danger  was  over,  he  joined  in  their  mirth 
with  as  much  glee  as  any  of  them.  This  being  over,  they  all  re- 
tired to  rest;  and  honest  Mickey  M'Sorley  went  home  very 
hearty  *  in  consequence  of  Dandy's  grateful  sense  of  the  aid  he 
had  rendered  his  wife.  The  next  morning.  Rose,  after  dressing 
the  infant  and  performing  all  the  usual  duties  that  one  expected 
from  her,  took  her  leave  in  these  words: 

"Now,  Mrs,  Keho,  God  bless  you  an'  yours,  and  take  care  of 
yourself,  I'll  see  you  again  on  Sunday  next,  when  it's  to  be 
christened.  Until  then,  throw  out  no  dirty  wather  before  sunrise 
or  after  sunset;  an'  when  Father  Molloy  is  goin'  to  christen  it,  let 
Corny  tell  him  not  to  forget  to  christen  it  against  the  fairies ,  an' 
thin  it'll  be  safe.     Good-bye,  ma'am;  an'  look  you  to  her,  Mrs. 

•Tipsy. 


THE    IXISH    MIDWIFE.  293 

Flnnegan,"  said  she,  addressing  her  patient's  mother,  "an' 
banaght  latfi  till  I  see  all  again." 

The  following  Sunday  morning.  Rose  paid  an  early  visit  to 
her  patient,  for,  as  it  was  the  day  of  young  Dandy's  -christening, 
her  presence  was  considered  indispensable.  There  is,  besides, 
something  in  the  appearance  and  bearing  of  a  midwife  upon  those 
occasions  which  diffuses  ?.  spirit  of  bouyancy  and  light-hearted- 
ness  not  only  through  the  immediate  family,  but  also  through  all 
who  may  happen  to  participate  in  the  ceremony,  or  partake  of  the 
good  cheer.  The  moment  she  was  seen  approaching  the  house, 
every  one  in  it  felt  an  immediate  elevation  of  spirits,  with  the  ex- 
ception of  Mrs.  Keho  herself,  who  knew  that  wherever  Rose  had 
the  arrangement  of  the  bill  of  fare,  there  was  sure  to  be  what  the 
Irish  t;all  "  full  an'  plinty  " — "  lashins  an'  lavins  " — a  fact  which 
madp  her  r^roan  in  spirit  at  the  bare  contemplation  of  such  waste 
and  extravagance.  She  was  indeed  a  woman  of  a  very  un-Irish 
heart-  -so  sharp  in  her  temper  and  so  penurious  in  soul,  that  one 
would  imagine  her  veins  were  filled  with  vinegar  instead  of  blood. 

"■*  Baiiaght  DIuah  in  shoh^^  (the  blessing  of  God  be  here), 
Rose  exclaimed  on  entering. 

^''  Banaghi  Dhea  agush  Murra  ghuid^^  (the  blessing  of  God 
and  the  Virgin  on  you),  replied  Corny,  "an'  you're  welcome. 
Rose  ohagur." 

"  I  know  that,  Corny.     Well  how  are  we  ? — how  is  my  son  ?" 

"Begorra,  thrivin'  like  a  pair  o'  throopers." 

"  Tiiank  God  for  it !  Haven't  we  a  good  right  to  be  grateful 
to  him,  any  way  ?     An'  is  my  little  man  to  be  christened  to-day  ?" 

"Indeed  he  is — the  gossips  will  be  here  presently,  an'  so  will 
her  mother.  But,  Rose,  dear,  will  you  take  the  ordhcrin'  of  the 
aitin'  an'  drinkin'  part  of  it  ? — you're  betther  up  to  these  things 
than  we  are,  an'  so  you  ought,  of  coorse.  Let  there  be  no  want 
of  anytliing  ;  an'  if  there's  an  overplush,  son-a  may  care;  there'll 
be  poor  mouths  enough  about  the  door  for  whatever's  left.  So, 
you  see,  keep  never  mindin'  any  hint  she  may  give  you — you 
know  she's  a  little  o'  the  closest;  but  no  matther.  Let  there,  as 
I  said,  be  enough  an'  to  spare." 


294  THE   ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"  Throth,  there  spoke  your  father's  son,  Corny  :  all  the  ould 
•dacency's  not  dead  yet,  anyhow.  Well,  I'll  do  my  best.  But 
she's  not  fit  to  be  up,  you  know,  an'  of  coorse  can't  disturb  us." 
The  expression  of  her  eye  could  not  be  misunderstood  as  she 
uttered  tliis.  "  I  see,"  said  Corny — "  devil  a  betther,  if  you 
manage  that,  all's  right." 

"  An'  now  I  must  go  in,  till  I  see  how  she  an'  my  son's  gettin' 
an:  that's  always  my  first  start;  bekase  you  know.  Corny,  honey, 
that  their  health  goes  afore  everything." 

Having  thus  undertaken  the  task  required  of  her,  she  passed 
into  the  bedroom  of  Mrs.  Keho,  whom  she  found  determined 
to  be  up,  in  order,  as  she  said,  to  be  at  the  head  of  her  own 
table. 

"Well,  alanna,  if  you  must,  you  must;  but  in  the  name  of 
goodness  I  wash  my  hands  out  of  the  business  teetotally.  Dslik, 
dshk,  dshk !  Oh,  wuria !  to  think  of  a  woman  in  your  state 
risin'  to  sit  at  her  own  table  !  That  I  may  never,  if  I'll  see  it, 
or  be  about  the  place  at  all.  If  you  take  your  life  by  your 
own  wilfulness,  why,  God  forgive  you;  but  it  mustn't  be 
while  I'm  here.  But  since  you're  bent  on  it,  why,  give  me  the 
child,  an'  afore  I  go,  anyhow,  I  may  as  well  dress  it,  poor  thing  ! 
The  heavens  pity  it^my  little  man — eh  ? — where  was  it  ? — cheep 
— that's  it,  a  ducky;  stretch  away.  Aye,  stretchin'  an'  thrivin' 
an'  my  son  !  Oh,  thin,  wurra !  Mrs.  Keho,  but  it's  you  that 
ought  to  ax  God's  pardon  for  goin'  to  do  what  might  lave  that 
darlin'  o'  the  world  an  orphan,  may  be.  Arrah,  if  I  can  have 
patience  wid  you.  May  God  pity  you,  my  child.  If  anything 
happened  your  mother,  what  'ud  become  of  you,  and  what  'ud 
become  of  your  poor  father  this  day?  Dshk,  dshk,  dshk!" 
These  latter  sounds,  exclamations  of  surprise  and  regret,  were 
produced  by  striking  the  tongue  against  that  part  of  the  inward 
gum  which  covers  the  roots  of  the  teeth . 

"Indeed,  Rose,"  replied  her  patient,  in  her  sharp,  shrill, 
quick  voice,  "  I'm  able  enough  to  get  up;  if  I  don't  we'll  be  hard 
rished.  Corny's  a  fool,  an'  it'll  be  only  rap  an'  rive  wid  every 
one  in  the  place." 


THE    IRISH    rriDWIFE.  295, 

"Wait,  ma'am,  if  you  plaise.  Where's  his  little  barrow?' 
Aye,  I  have  it.  Wait,  ma'am,  if  you  plaise,  till  I  get  the  child 
dressed,  an'  I'll  soon  take  myself  out  o'  this.  Heaven  presarve 
us!  I  have  seen  the  like  o'  this. afore — aye,  have  I — where  it 
was  as  clear  as  crystal  that  there  loas  something  over  them — aye, 
over  them  that  took  their  own  way  as  you're  doin'." 

"But  if  I  don't  get  up?" 

"Oh,  by  all  manes,  ma'am — by  all  manes.  I  suppose  you 
have  a  laise  o'  your  life,  that's  all.  It's  what  I  wish  I  could 
get." 

"An'  must  I  stay  here  in  bed  all  day,  an'  me  able  to  rise,  an' 
sich  willful  waste  as  will  go  on,  too  ?" 

"  Remember  you're  warned.  This  is  your  first  baby,  God  bless- 
it  an'  spare  you  both.  But,  Mrs.  Keho,  docs  it  stand  to  raison 
that  you're  as  good  a  judge  of  these  things  as  a  woman  like  me, 
that  it's  my  business  ?     I  ax  you  that,  ma'am." 

This  poser  in  fact  settled  the  question,  not  only  by  the  reason- 
able force  of  the  conclusion  to  be  arrived  from  it,  but  by  the  cool, 
authoritative  manner  in  which  it  was  put. 

"  Well,"  said  the  other,  "  in  that  case  I  suppose  I  must  give 
in.     You  ought  to  know  best." 

"Thank  you  kindly,  ma'am;  have  you  found  it  out  at  last? 
No,  but  you  ought  to  put  your  two  hands  undher  my  feet  for  pre- 
vintin'  you  from  doin'  what  you  intinded.  That  I  may  never  sup 
sorrow,  but  it  was  as  much  as  your  life  was  worth.  Compose 
yourself;  I'll  see  that  there's  no  waste,  and  that's  enough.  Here, 
hould  my  son — why,  thin,  isn't  he  the  beauty  o'  the  world,  now 
that  he  has  got  his  little  dress  upon  him  ? — till  I  pin  up  this  apron 
across  the  windy;  the  light's  too  strong  for  you.  There,  now;  the 
light's  apt  to  give  one  a  headache  when  it  comes  in  full  bint  upon 
the  eyes  that  way.  Come,  alanna,  come  an  now,  till  I  show  you 
to  your  father  an'  them  all.  Wurra,  thin,  Mrs.  Keho,  darlin'," 
(this  was  said  in  a  low  confidential  whisper,  and  in  a  playful 
wheedimg  tone  which  baffles  all  description),  "wurra,  thin,  Mrs. 
Keho,  darlin',  but  it's  he  that's  the  proud  man,  the  proud  Corny, 
this  day.     Rise  year  head  a  little — aisy — there  now,  that'll  do — 


2^6  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

one  kiss  to  my  son,  now,  before  he  laives  his  mammy,  he  says, 
for  a  weeny  while,  till  he  pays  his  little  respects  to  his  daddy  an' 
to  all  his  friends,  he  says,  an'  thin  he'll  come  back  to  mammy 
agin — to  his  own  little  bottle,  he  says." 

Young  Corny  soon  went  the  rounds  of  the  whole  family,  from 
his  father  down  to  the  little  herd-boy  who  followed  and  took  care 
of  the  cattle.  Many  were  the  jokes  which  passed  between  the 
youngsters  on  this  occasion — ^jokes  which  have  been  registered  by 
such  personages  as  Rose,  almost  in  every  family  in  the  kingdom, 
for  centuries,  and  with  which  most  of  the  Irish  people  are  too  in- 
timately and  thoroughly  acquainted  to  render  it  necessary  for  us 
!  to  repeat  them  here. 

Rose  now  addressed  herself  to  the  task  pf  preparing  breakfast, 
which,  in  honor  of  the  happy  event,  was  nothing  less  than  "  tay, 
white   bread  and  Boxty,  with  a  glass  of  poteen  to  sharpen  the 
appetite."  As  Boxty,  however,  is  a  description  of  bread  not  gen- 
erally known  to  our  readers,  we  shall  give  them  a  sketch  of  the 
manner  in  which  this  Irish  luxury  is  made.     A  basket  of  the  best 
potatoes  is  got,  which  are  washed  and  peeled  raw ;  then  is  pro- 
i  cured  a  tin  grater,  on  which  they  are  grated ;  the  water  is  then 
shired  off  them,  and  the  macerated  mass  is  put  into  a  clean  sheet, 
or  table-cloth,  or  bolster-cover.     This  is  caught  at  each  end  by 
two  strong  men,  who  twist  it  in  opposite  directions  until  the  con- 
■  tortions  drive  up  the  substance  into  the  middle  of  the  sheet,  etc.; 
-this  of  course  expels  the  water  also;  but  lest  tlie  twisting  should 
.be  insufficient  for  that  purpose,  it  is  placed,  like  a  cheese-cake, 
f  under  a  heavy  weight,  until  it  is  properly  dried.     They  then 
knead  it  into  cakes,  and  bake  it  on  a  pan  or  griddle;  and  when 
eaten   with  butter  we  can  assure   our  readers  that  it  is  quite 
delicious. 

The  hour  was  now  about  nine  o'clock,  and  the  company  asked 
to  the  christening  began  to  assemble.  The  gossips  or  sponsors 
were  four  in  number;  two  of  them  wealthy  friends  of  the  family 
that  had  never  been  married,  and  the  two  others  a  simple  country 
pair,  who  were  anxious  to  follow  in  the  matrimonial  steps  of 
Corny  and  his  wife.     The  rest  were,  as  usual,   neighbors,  tela- 


THE   IRISH   MIDWIFE.  297 

tivss,  and  clccroeens,  to  the  amount  of  sixteen  or  eighteen  persons, 
men,  women  and  children,  all  dressed  in  their  best  apparel,  and 
disposed  to  mirth  and  friendship.  Along  with  the  rest  was  Bob 
M'Cann,  the  fool,  who,  by  the  way,  could  smell  out  a  good  dinner 
with  as  keen  a  nostril  as  the  wisest  man  in  the  parish  could  boast 
of,  and  who,  on  such  occasions,  carried  turf  and  water  in  quan.i- 
ties  that  indicated  the  supernatural  strength  of  a  Scotch  brownie, 
rather  than  that  of  a  human  being.  Bob's  qualities,  however, 
were  well  proportioned  to  each  other,  for,  truth  to  say,  his  ap- 
petite was  equal  to  his  strength,  and  his  cunning  to  either. 

Corny  and  Mrs.  Moan  were  in  great  spirits,  and  indeed  we 
might  predicate  as  much  of  all  who  were  present.  Not  a  soul 
entered  the  house  who  was  not  brought  up  by  Corny  to  an  out- 
shot  room,  as  a  private  mark  of  his  friendship,  and  treated  to  an 
underhand  glass  of  as  good  poteen  "  as  ever  went  down  the  red 
lane,"  to  use  a  phrase  common  among  the  people.  Nothing  upon 
an  occasion  naturally  pleasant  gives  conversation  a  more  cheerful 
impulse  than  tins;  and  the  consequence  was,  that  in  a  short  time 
the  scene  was  animated  and  mirthful  to  an  unusual  degree. 

Breakfast  at  length  commenced  in  due  form.  Two  bottles  of 
whiskey  were  placed  upon  the  table,  and  the  first  thing  done  was 
to  administer  a  glass  to  each  guest. 

"Come,  neighbors,"  said  Corny,  "we  must  dhrink  the  good 
woman's  health  before  we  ate,  especially  as  it's  the  first  time, 
anyhow." 

"To  be  sure  they  will,  achora,  an'  why  not?  An'  if  it's  the 
first  time,  Corny,  it  won't  be  the —     Musha  !  you're  welcome, 

Mrs.  !  an'  jist  in  time,  too."     This  she  said,  addressing  his 

mother-in-law,   who   then  entered.       "Look   at   this  swaddy, 

Mrs. ;  my  soul  to  happiness,  but  he's  fit  to  be  the  son  of  a 

lord.  Eh,  a  pet  ?  Where  was  my  darlin'  ?  Corny,  let  me  dip 
my  finger  in  I  he  whiskey  till  I  rub  his  gums  wid  it.  That's  my 
bully  !  Oh,  the  heavens  love  it,  see  how  it  puts  the  little  mouth 
about  lookin*  for  it  agin.  Throth  you'll  have  the  spunk  in  you 
yet,  acushla,  an'  it's  credit  to  the  Kehos  you'll  be,  if  you're 
spared,  as  you  will,  plaise  heavens  '" 


tgB  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"  Well,  Comy,"  said  one  of  the  gossips,  "here's  a  speedy  up- 
rise an'  a  sudden  recovery  to  the  good  woman,  an'  the  little 
gthranger's  health,  an'  God  bless  the  baker  that  gives  thirteen  to 
the  dozen,  anyhow  !" 

"Aye,  aye,  Paddy  Rafferty,  you'll  have  your  joke  any  way; 
an',  throth,  you're  welcome  to  it,  Paddy;  if  you  weren't,  it  isn't 
standin'  for  young  Comy  you'd  be  to-day." 

"Thrue  enough,"  said  Rose,  "  an',  by  the  dickens,  Paddy 
isn't  the  boy  to  be  long  under  an  obligation  to  any  one.  Eh, 
Paddy,  did  I  help  you  there,  avick  ?  Aisy,  childre;  you'll 
smother  my  son  if  you  crash  about  him  that  way."  This  was 
addressed  to  some  of  the  youngsters,  who  were  pressing  round  to 
look  at  and  touch  the  infant. 

"It  won't  be  my  fault  if  I  do,  Rose,"  said  Paddy,  slyly  eye- 
ing Peggy  Betagh,  then  betrothed  to  him,  who  sat  opposite,  her 
darlc  eyes  flashing  with  repressed  humor  and  affection.  Deaf- 
ness, however,  is  sometimes  a  very  convenient  malady  to  young 
ladies,  for  Peggy  immediately  commenced  a  series  of  playful  at- 
tentions to  the  unconscious  infant,  which  were  just  sufficient  to 
excuse  her  from  noticing  this  allusion  to  their  marriage.  Rose 
looked  at  her,  then  nodded  comically  to  Paddy,  shutting  both 
her  eyes  by  way  of  a  wink,  addmg  aloud,  "Throth  you'll  be 
the  happy  boy,  Paddy;  an'  woe  betide  you  if  you  aren't  the 
sweetest  end  of  a  honeycomb  to  her.  Take  care  an'  don't  bring 
me  upon  you.  Well,  Peggy,  never  mind,  alanna;  who  has  a 
betthcr  nght  to  his  joke  than  the  dacent  boy  that's — aisy,  childre: 
saint's  above  !  but  ye'U  smother  the  child,  so  you  will.  WHiere 
did  I  get  him,  Denny  ?  sure  I  brought  him  as  a  present  to  Mrs. 
Keho;  I  never  come  but  I  bring  a  purty  little  babljy  along  wid 
me — than  the  dacent  boy,  dear,  that's  soon  to  be  your  lovin' 
husband?  Arrah,  take  your  glass,  acushla;  the  sorra  harm  it'll 
do  you." 

"  Bedad,  I'm  afcard,  Mrs.  Moan.  What  if  it  'ud  get  into  my 
head,  an'  me  to  stand  for  my  little  godson  ?  No,  bad  scran  to 
me  if  I  could — faix,  a  glass  'ud  be  too  many  for  me." 

"It's  not  more  than  half  filled,  dear;  but  there's  sense  in  what 
the  girl  says,  Dandy,  so  don't  press  it  an  her." 


THE    IRISH    MIDWIFE.  299 

In  the  brief  space  allotted  to  us  we  could  not  possibly  give  any^ 
thing  like  a  full  and  correct  picture  of  the  happiness  and  hilarity 
which  prevailed  at  the  breakfast  in  question.  When  it  was  over 
they  all  prepared  to  go  to  the  parish  chapel,  which  was  distant 
at  least  a  couple  of  miles,  the  midwife  staying  at  home  to  see 
that  all  the  necessaiy  preparations  were  made  for  dinner.  As 
they  were  departing,  Rose  took  Dandy  aside  and  addressed 
htm  thue: 

"Now,  Dandy,  when  you  see  the  priest,  tell  him  that  it  is 
youj' wish,  above  all  things,  'that  he  should  christen  it  against 
the  fairies.'  If  you  say  that,  it's  enough.  And,  Peggy,  achora, 
come  here.  You're  not  carryin'  that  child  right,  alanna;  but 
you'll  kjiow  betther  yet,  plaise  goodness.  No,  avillish,  don't 
keep  its  I'tlle  head  so  closely  covered  wid  your  cloak;  the  day's 
a  bumin'  day,  glory  be  to  God,  an'  the  Lord  guard  my  child; 
sure  the  least  thing  in  the  world,  where  there's  too  much  hait, 
'ud  smothar  my  darlin'.  Keep  its  head  out  farther,  and  just 
shade  its  little  face  that  way  from  the  sun.  Och,  will  I  ever  for- 
get the  Suiiday  whin  poor  Mally  M'Guigan  wint  to  take  Pat 
Feasthalagii's  child  from  under  her  cloak  to  be  christened,  the 
poor  infant  was  a  corpse;  an'  only  that  the  Lord  put  it  into  my 
head  to  have  it  privately  christened,  the  father  an'  mother's 
hearts  would  break.  Glory  be  to  God  !  Mrs.  Duggan,  if  the 
child  gets  cross,  dear,  or  misses  anything,  act  the  mother  by  him, 
tha  little  man.  Eh,  alanna !  where  was  it  ?  Where  was  my 
dnclf  o'  diamonds — my  little  Con  Roe?  My  own  sweety  little 
ace  q'  hs.irts — eh,  alanna !  Well,  God  keep  it  till  I  see  it  again, 
thejcs^el!" 

Well,  tha  cliild  was  baptized  by  the  name  of  his  father,  and 
the  persons  assembled,  after  their  return  from  chapel,  lounged 
about  Comy's  house,  or  took  little  strolls  in  the  neighborhood, 
until  the  hoax  of  dinner.  This  of  course  was  much  more  convi- 
vial, and  ten  times  more  vociferous  than  the  breakfast,  cheerful 
as  that  meal  was.  At  dinner  they  had  a  dish  v/hich  we  believe 
is,  like  the  Boxty,  peculiarly  Irish  in  its  composition;  we  mean 
what  is  called  stJiUh.   This  consists  of  potatoes  and  beans,  pounded 


JOO  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

trp  together  in  such  a  manner  that  the  beans  are  not  broken,  and 
on  this  account  the  potatoes  are  well  champed  before  the  beans 
are  put  into  them.  This  is  dished  in  a  large  bo-vvl,  and  a  hole 
made  in  the  middle  of  it,  into  which  a  miscaim  or  roll  of  butter 
is  thrust,  and  then  covered  up  until  it  is  melted.  After  this, 
every  one  takes  a  spoon  and  digs  away  with  his  utmost  vigor, 
dipping  every  morsel  into  the  well  of  butter  in  the  middle,  before 
he  puts  it  into  iiis  mouth.  Indeed,  from  the  strong  competition 
which  goes  forward,  and  the  rapid  motion  of  each  right  hand,  no 
spectator  could  be  mistaken  in  ascribing  the  motive  of  their  pro- 
ceedings to  the  principle  of  the  old  proverb,  devil  take  the  hind- 
most. Sthilk  differs  from  another  dish  made  of  potatoes  in  much 
the  same  way,  called  cokannon.  If  there  were  beans,  for  instance, 
in  colcannon,  it  would  be  sthilk. 

After  dinner  the  whiskey  began  to  go  round,  for  in  these  days 
prnich  was  a  luxury  almost  unknown  to  the  class  we  are  writing 
q£  In  fact,  nobody  there  knew  how  to  make  it  but  the  midwife, 
Vho  wisely  kept  the  secret  to  herself,  aware  that  if  the  whiskey 
were  presented  to  tliem  in  such  a  palatable  shape,  they  would  not 
know  wlien  to  stop,  and  she  herself  might  fall  short  of  the  snug 
bottle  that  is  usually  kept  as  a  treat  for  those  visits  which  she 
ct)nlinues  to  pay  during  the  convalescence  of  her  patients. 

"  Com;i,  Rose,"  said  Corny,  who  was  beginning  to  soften  fast, 
"it's  your  turn  now  to  thry  aglassof  what  has  never  seen  walher." 

"  I'll  take  the  glass,  Dandy — 'deed  will  I — but  the  thruth  is,  I 
never  dhrink  it  hard.  No,  but  I'll  jist  take  a  drop  o'  hot  wather 
an'  a  grain  o'  sugar,  an'  scald  it;  that  an'  as  much  carraway 
scc^ls  as  will  lie  upon  a  sixpence  does  me  good;  for,  God  help 
me,  the  stomach  isn't  at  all  stlirong  wid  me,  m  regard  o'  bein' 
up  so  much  at  night,  an'  deprived  of  my  nathural  rest." 

"  Rose,"  said  one  of  them,  "  is  it  thrue  that  you  war  called  out 
one  night,  an'  brought  blindfoulded  to  some  grand  lady  bclongin' 
to  the  quality  ?" 

'*  Wait,  avick,  till  I  make  a  drop  o'  ivmt-grace*  for  the  mis- 
thress,  poor  thing;  an'  Corny,  I'll  jist  throuble  you   for  about  a 

*  A  wan-grace  is  a  kind  of  small  gruel  or  meal  tea,  sweetened  with  sugar. 


THE    IRISH   MIDWIFE.  3OI 

thimbleful  o'  spirits  to  take  the  smell  o'  the  wather  off  it.  The 
poor  creature,  she's  a  little  weak  still,  an'  indeed  it's  wonderfiil 
how  she  stood  it  out;  but,  my  dear,  God's  good  to  his  own,  an' 
fits  the  back  to  the  burden,  praise  be  to  his  name  !" 

She  then  proceeded  to  scald  the  drop  of  spirits  for  herself,  or, 
in  otlier  words,  to  mix  a  good  tumbler  of  ladies'  punch,  making 
it,  as  the  plirase  goes,  hot,  strong  and  sweet — not  forgetting  the 
carraways,  to  give  it  a  flavor.  This  being  accomplished,  she 
made  the  wan-grace  for  Mrs.  Keho,  still  throwing  in  a  word  now 
and  then  to  sustain  her  part  in  the  conversation,  which  was  now 
rising  fast  into  mirth,  laughter  and  clamor. 

*'  Well,  but  Rose,  about  the  lady  of  quality;  will  you  tell  us 
that  ?" 

"Oh,  many  a  thing  happened  me  as  well  worth  tellin',  if  you 
go  to  that;  but  I'll  tell  it  to  you,  childre,  for  sure  the  curiosity's 
nathural  to  yez.  Why,  I  was  one  night  at  home  an'  asleep,  an  I 
hears  a  horse's  foot  gallopin'  for  the  bare  life  up  to  the  door.  I 
immediately  put  my  head  out,  an'  the  horseman  says,  '  Are  you 
Mrs.  Moan  ?' 

*' '  That's  the  name  that's  an  me,  your  honor,'  says  myself. 

"  '  Dress  yourself,  thin,'  says  he,  'for  you're  sadly  wanted;  dress 
yourself  and  mount  behind  me,  for  there's  not  a  moment  to  be 
lostl'  At  the  same  time  I  forgot  to  say  that  his  hat  was  tied 
about  his  face  in  sich  a  way  that  I  couldn't  catch  a  glimpse  of  it. 
Well,  my  dear,  we  didn't  let  the  grass  grow  under  our  feet  for 
about  a  mile  or  so.  'Now,'  says  he,  '  you  must  allow  yourself 
to  be  blindfoulded,  an'  it's  useless  to  oppose  it,  for  it  must  be 
done.  There's  the  character,  maybe  the  life,  of  a  great  lady  at 
stake;  so  be  quiet  till  I  cover  your  eyes,  or,'  says  he,  lettin'  out 
a  great  oath,  •  it'll  be  worse  for  you.  I'm  a  desperate  man;'  an' 
sure  enough,  1  could  feel  the  heart  of  him  beatin'  undher  his  ribs 
as  if  it  would  bust  in  pieces.  Well,  my  dears,  what  could  I  do 
in  the  hands  of  a  man  that  was  strong  and  desperate  ?  '  So,'  says 
I,  *  cover  my  eyes  in  welcome;  only  for  the  lady's  sake,  make  no 
delay.'  Wid  that  he  dashed  his  spurs  into  the  poor  horse,  an' 
he  foamin'  an'  smokin'  like  a  lime-kiln  already.     Anyway,  in 


502  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

about  half  an  hour  I  found  myself  in  a  grand  bedroom;  an'  jist 
as  I  was  put  into  the  door  he  whishpers  me  to  bring  the  child  to 
him  in  the  next  room,  as  soon  as  it  would  be  born.  Well,  sure  I 
did  so,  afther  lavin'  the  mother  in  a  fair  way.  But  what  'ud  you 
have  of  it  ?  the  first  thing  I  see,  lyin'  an  the  table,  was  a  purse  of 
money  an'  a  case  o'  pistols.  Whin  I  looked  at  him,  I  thought 
the  devil,  Lord  guard  us  !  was  in  his  face,  he  looked  so  black  and 
terrible  r.bout  the  brows.  '  Now,  my  good  woman,'  says  he,  'so 
far  you've  acted  well,  but  there's  more  to  be  done  yet.  Take 
your  choice  of  these  two,'  says  he,  'this  purse  or  the  contents  o* 
one  o'  these  pistols  as  your  reward.  You  mustmurdher  the  child 
upon  the  spot.'  '  In  the  name  of  God  an'  his  Mother,  be  you 
man  or  devil,  I  defy  you,'  says  I;  '  no  innocent  blood  '11  ever  be 
shed  by  these  hands.'  '  I'll  give  you  ten  minutes,'  says  he,  'to 
pui  an  end  to  that  brat  there;'  an'  wid  that  he  cocked  one  o'  the 
pisl6ls.  iMy  dears,  I  had  nothin'  for  it  but  to  say  in  to  myself  a 
pailier  an'  ave  as  fast  as  I  could,  for  I  thought  it  was  all  over  wid 
me.  However,  glory  be  to  God,  the  prayers  gave  me  great 
stringth,  an'  I  spoke  stoutly.  'Whin  the  king  of  Jerusalem,' 
saj-s  i,  '  an  he  was  a  greater  man  than  ever  you'll  be— whin  the 
king  of  Jerusalem  ordhered  the  midwives  of  Aigyp  to  put  Moses 
to  death,  they  wouldn't  do  it,  an'  God  preserved  them  in  spite  of 
him,  king  though  he  was,'  says  I;  '  an'  from  that  day  to  this  it 
was  never  known  that  a  midwife  took  away  the  life  of  the  babe 
she  aided  into  the  world — no,  an'  I'm  not  goin'  to  be  the  first 
that'll  do  it.'  '  The  time  is  out,'  says  he,  pultin'  the  pistol  to  my 
ear,  '  but  I'll  give  you  one  minute  more.'  'Let  me  go  to  my 
knees  first,'  says  I;  'an'  may  God  have  mercy  on  my  sowl,  for, 
bad  as  I  am,  I'm  willin'  to  die  sooner  than  commit  murdher  an 
the  innocent.'  He  gave  a  start  as  I  spoke,  an'  threw  the  pistol 
down.  '  Aye, '  said  he,  '  an  the  innocent — an  the  innocent — that 
is  thrue  !  But  you  are  an  extraordinary  woman:  you  have  .saved 
that  child's  life,  and  previnted  me  from  committing  two  great 
crimes,  for  it  was  my  intintion  to  murdher  you  afther  you  had 
murdhered  it.'  I  thin,  by  his  ordhers,  brought  the  poor  child  to 
its  mother,  and  whin  I  came  back  to  the  room,  'Take  that  purse,' 


THE   IRISH    MIDWIFE.  303 

says  he,  ♦  an'  keep  it  as  a  reward  for  your  honesty. '  '  Wid  the 
help  o'  God,'  says  I,  '  a  penny  of  it  will  never  come  into  my 
company,  so  it's  no  use  to  ax  me.'  '  Well,'  says  he,  '  afore  you 
lave  this,  you  must  swear  not  to  mintion  to  a  livin'  sowl  what 
has  happened  this  night,  for  a  year  and  a  day.'  It  didn't  signify 
to  me  whether  I  mintioned  it  or  not;  so  being  jack-indifferent 
about  it,  I  tuck  the  oath  and  kept  it.  He  thin  bound  my  eyes 
agin,  hoisted  me  up  behind  him,  an'  in  a  short  time  left  me  at 
home.  Indeed,  I  wasn't  the  betther  o'  the  start  it  tuck  out  o'  me 
for  as  good  as  six  weeks  afther !" 

The  company  now  began  to  grow  musical;  several  songs  were 
^ng;  and  when  the  evening  got  farther  advanced,  a  neighboring 
fiddler  was  sent  for,  and  the  little  party  had  a  dance  in  the  bam, 
to  which  they  adjourned  lest  the  noise  might  disturb  Mrs.  Keho, 
had  they  held  it  in  the  dwelling-house.  Before  this  occurred, 
however,  the  "midwife's  glass  "  went  the  round  of  the  gossips, 
each  of  whom  d^anlc  her  health,  and  dropped  some  silver,  at  the 
same  time,  into  the  bottom  of  it.  It  was  then  returned  to  her, 
and  with  a  smiling  face  she  gave  the  following  toast:  "Health 
to  fhe  parent  stock  !  So  long  as  it  thrives,  there  will  always  be 
branches  !  Corny  Keho,  long  life  an'  good  health  to  you  an' 
yours  !  May  your  son  live  to  see  himself  as  happy  as  his  father ! 
Youngsters,  here's  that  you  may  follow  a  good  example  !  The 
company's  health  in  general  I  wish;  an',  Paddy  Rafferty,  that 
you  may  never  have  a  blind  child  but  you'll  have  a  lame  one  to 
lead  it !  ha,  ha,  ha  !  What's  the  world  widout  a  joke  ?  I  must 
see  the  good  woman  an'  my  little  son  afore  I  go;  but  as  I  won't 
follow  yez  to  the  bam,  I'll  bid  yez  good-night,  neighbors,  an'  the 
blessin'  of  Rose  Moan  be  among  yez  !" 

And  so  also  do  we  take  leave  of  our  old  friend  Rose  Moan,  the 
Irish  midwife,  who,  we  understand,  took  her  last  leave  of  the 
world  many  years  ago. 


304  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPiiKS. 


THE  WILL  0'  THE  WISP. 


Many  years  ago,  the  writer  of  this,  being  in  the  city  of  Dublin, 
had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  the  following  story  from  the  lips  of 
(he  far-famed  "  Zozimus."  I  have  never  before  seen  it  in  print, 
and  thinking  it  might  perhaps  interest  your  readers,  I  will  en- 
deavor to  give  it  as  nearly  as  possible  in  the  words  of  its  famous 
narrator,  though  acknowledging  my  utter  inability  to  even  re- 
moljjy  appro.ijli  his  inimitable  style  of  delivering  it.  It  was  told 
wiih  sucli  earnestness,  that  I  have  no  doubt  whatever  that  Zozi- 
mils  bims-.'If  i:r.plicitly  believed  in  the  truth  of  every  word  he 
utt:;rc-J.     The  storj  runs: — 

111  olden  times  there  lived  in  the  northern  part  of  Ireland  a 
Uatksmith  calk-d  William  Cooper.  Now  William  was  a  sort  of 
a  loose  chap,  and  d^  flivil  entirely  at  all  spoorls.  He  was  noted 
for  atid  near  as  tlfe  hardest  drinker  and  most  reckless  dare-divil 
in  tlu  couaty.  Finally  his  squandering  habits  plunged  iiim  head 
an'  heels  iu  debt,  and  he  had  no  possible  manner  of  payin'.  In 
his  dispare  hi  called  on  the  Ould  Boy  below  to  help  him,  an' 
shure  enougTi,  the  divil  came  at  his  call.  William  struck  a  bar- 
gain wid  him  at  once  which  appeared  to  satisfy  both  parties. 
William  was  to  receive  as  much  goold  as  he  cud  spind,  but,  in  re- 
turn, he  was  to  sell  his  sowl  to  tlie  Ould  Lad,  who  was  to  cum  fur 
him  in  seven  years'  lime.  After  William  had  signed  the  bond  with 
his  blud,  the  divil  disappeared  in  a  flash  of  blue  flame. 

William  soon  got  from  bad  to  wursc,  spindin'  and  squanderin' 
his  money  in  foolishness  and  dissipation. 

But  wid  all  that  he  wuz  no  ways  mane  or  stingy  in  the  matter 


THE    WILL    O'   THE    WISP.  3©^ 

ofhelpin'  a  poor  nabur,  an'  many  wuz  the  blessin'  he  got  from 
their  grateful  hearts,  an'  many  wuz  the  prayerofl'ered  up  fur  God 
to  direct  him  to  the  right  road  agin. 

Howsomever,  it  seemed  all  of  no  avail,  an'  it  looked  as  if  noth- 
in'  wud  ever  turn  him.  One  day  an  ould  woman  whom  he  cum 
across  axed  him  far  some  alms.  He  didn't  wait  to  spake,  but 
put  his  fist  in  his  pocket  and  drawed  out  a  bright  goold  guinea, 
which  he  handed  to  her,  saym', '  'There,  me  poor  woman,  an'  I  ':ope 
it  will  do  you  more  good  than  it  wud  do  me."  The  ould  woman 
thanked  him  kindly,  fur  you  must  understhand  that  a  guinea  in 
them  days  wuz  thought  a  big  lot  of  money  entirely  by  the  poor 
people.  So  she  says  to  him,  "Now,  William  Cooper,  since  you 
have  been  so  kind  to  a  poor  ould  woman,  I  will  grant  you  any 
three  wishes  you  ax  fur."  You  see  the  ould  woman  was  a  fairy — 
one  of  the  good  folks,  you  know  (this  was  uttered  by  Zozimus  in 
a  low  voice  and  with  a  confidential  manner) — an'  she  had  the  power 
of  granting;  wishes,  pervided  it  wouldn't  injure  a  mortal's  sow!. 

Well,*me  brave  William  spoke  up  an'  says:  "  Furst  ov  all,  I 
wish  that  aixy  one  that  lifts  my  sledge  to  slhrike  wid  it,  must 
kape  on  slhrikin'  till  I  take  it  aff  him."  "That  wish  is  granted," 
sgjd  the  fairy.  "  Ne.xt,  I  wish  that  any  one  that  sits  down  in  my 
arm-chair  can  never  get  up  out  ov  it  till  I  relase  them."  "  That 
wish  is  also  granted,"  said  the  fairy.  "  And  now,  fur  the  last 
one,  I  wish  fur  a  purse  that  no  one  but  myself  can  take  anything 
out  ov  that  I  put  in  it."  The  fairy  immediately  drew  a  purse 
from  her  pocket,  an'  givin'  it  to  William,  says: 

♦'Your  wishes  are  all  granted,"  an'  thin  she  disappeared. 
Some  time  after  this,  as  William  wuz  wurkin'  away  at  his  forge 
an'  whistlin'  to  himself,  who  shud  walk  in  the  door  but  ould 
Beelzebub.  "  Ha,  ha,  William,"  he  sez;  "  I've  cum  fur  ye  at  last 
— timers  up,  me  boy."  "All  right,"  sez  Will,  not  alarmed  in  the 
laste.  "  I'm  ready  to  go,  av  you  wait  till  I  finish  these  plow- 
irons  fur  a  nabur;  I  promised  him  I'd  do  thim  fur  him  to-day,  an' 
I  wudn't  like  to  go  down  below  till  I  fulfilled  me  promise,  so  as 
not  to  disappoint  him."  "All  right,"  sez  the  divil,  "I'll 
wait."  "  Take  the  sledge,  thin,  an'  give  me  a  hand,"  sez  Wil- 
liam, "an'  I'll  be  done  all  the  quicker." 


306  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

So  the  divil  took  the  sledge  an'  commenced  to  strike.  Well,  he 
struck,  an'  struck,  an'  stmck  away  till  he  was  tired  out,  an' 
sick  an'  sore  in  every  limb,  an'  there  stud  Will  laughing  at  him. 
When  he  was  most  ready  to  drop  down,  he  cries  out: 

*'  Will,  Will,  asthore,  av  you  only  take  this  aff  me,  I'll  not 
bother  you  fur  five  years  to  cum,  an'  let  you  have  all  the  money 
you  want  to  spind  till  I  cum  agin." 

"It's  a  bargain,"  sed  William;  so  he  tuk  the  sledge  aflfhim  an' 
the  divil  disappeared. 

After  this  William  wint  on  wurse  than  ever,  an'  got  so  that  he 
wudn't  do  any  wurk  at  all,  until  his  time  was  near  up.  Thin  he 
straightened  up  a  little.  One  day  he  wasplowin'  a  small  patch  of 
ground  bclongin'  to  him,  whin  the  Ould  Chap  cum  fur  him  agin. 
"  I  want  you  this  time,"  sez  the  divil.  "  All  right,  tna  bouchal," 
sez  VsUliam;  "cum  to  the  holise  wid  me  till  I  put  on  a  clane 
shirt,  as  I  don't  like  to  go  into  company  unless  I  look  dacent." 

Tli:3  divil  agreed  to  this,  an'  they  wint  back  to  the  house 
leather. 

"  SJu-  shecse,"  sez  William,  pushing  over  his  arm-chair,  so  the 
divil  s;il  down  in  it,  bud  bad  scran  to  the  up  he  cud  get  agin.  Will 
QDI7  lauglied  at  him  an'  put  on  a  clane  shirt,  an'  off  to  the  market 
town  he  wint,  where  thera  wuz  a  fair  goin'  on.  He  didn't  cum 
bozk  till  iate  that  night,  an'  there  sat  the  divil  still,  an'  him  blue 
in  the  face  wid  his  struggles  to  get  out  ov  the  chair. 

'*01i.  Will !"  he  cried,  "  let  me  out  of  this,  and  I  won't  cum 
agla  fur  another  five  years." 

"All  right,"  says  Will,  an'  he  let  him  go;  but  on  account  of 
his  Ixiia'  half  drunk,  he  didn't  notice  that  the  divil  promised  him 
no  money  this  time.  Will  soon  found  to  his  grief  that  what 
money  ho  liad  didn't  last  long,  an'  people  wud  give  him  no 
work  to  dn  on  account  of  his  bad  ways.  So  the  long  and  short 
of  it  wu^,  that  Will  at  last  had  to  beg  his  bit  from  door  to  door. 
When  the  time  cum  round  agin,  the  divil  appeared,  an'  poor 
Will  sez,  "  I'm  glad  you  cum,  fur  I'm  tired  an'  sick  of  livin', 
anyhow." 


THE   WILL   0     THE    WISP.  307 

••  Ah  ha !"  sez  the  divil,  "  you  haven't  got  me  in  your  house  or 
forge  now,  have  you?" 

"No,"  sez  Will,  "I  am  not  thinkin'  av  playin'  any  more 
thricks  on  you." 

"  I  doubt  that  ye  cud, "  sez  the  divil.  So  aff  they  marched 
together. 

After  awhile  they  passed  a  public  house,  an'  poor  Will  sez, 
•'Many's  the  time  I  had  a  good  drink  there,  an'  I'd  like  to  have 
one  partin'  drink  before  lavin'  this  world,  but  I  haven't  a  farden. 
I  have  aften  heard,"  he  sez  to  the  divil,  "that  you  cud  change 
yourself  into  any  shape  you  like.  If  you  can,  just  change  your- 
self into  a  sovereign,  an'  I  can  go  in  an'  get  a  drink,  an'  thin  I'm 
ready  to  go  anywhere  you  take  me." 

"All  right,"  sez  the  divil,  "I'll  oblige  you  now,  as  it's  the 
last  time  an'  I'm  sure  av  you." 

So  he  changed  himself  into  the  coin  and  Will  put  him  into  his 
purse.  Then  he  wint  into  the  tap-room,  an'  throwin'  the  purse 
on  the  table  called  for  some  poteen;  after  drinking  several  times 
the  tapster  axed  for  his  money,  an'  Will  told  him  to  take  it  from 
the  purse;  bud  av  he  wuz  tryin'  from  thin  till  now,  av  coorse  he 
cudn't  take  it  out.  Will  sez,  "I've  offered  you  the  money  an' 
ye  wudn't  take  it,  so  I'll  keep  it  myself;"  an'  he  put  the  purse 
in  his  pocket,  and  they  bundled  him  out.  Back  he  marches  to 
his  forge  an'  put  the  purse  on  the  anvil.  Liftin'  his  sledge  he 
began  to  belt  away  at  it,  till  the  ould  laddie  buck  widin  it 
begged  fur-mercy.  At  last  he  sung  out:  "Will,  asthore,  av  you 
let  me  out  av  this,  I'll  niver  cum  next  or  near  ye  agin,  an'  I'll 
give  ye  money  enough  to  last  you  your  life-time." 

"Agreed,"  sez  William,  an'  he  released  him,  an'  the  di\'il 
flew  away  yellin'  from  the  batin'  he  got. 

After  this  Will  lived  nice  an'  comfortable,  an'  give  away  a 
grate  dale  in  charity,  besides  buildin'  up  a  fine  town  called 
BallymuUy.  At  last,  however,  he  had  to  die,  like  we  all  have, 
so  he  dropped  off.  He  marched  to  the  gate  of  heaven  and  axed 
to  get  in;  bud  whin  he  told  his  name,  they  sed  he  had  dalings 
wid  the  Avil  One,  an'  he  cudn't  get  in  there.     So  they  packed 


308  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

him  off.  Back  he  marched  till  he  got  to  the  door  of  the  other 
place,  an'  axed  to  get  in.  They  axed  him  whowuz  there,  an'  he 
Bed  William  Cooper. 

"  Oh  ho  !  don't  let  him  in,"  sed  the  Ould  Divil,  "  or  he'll  get 
the  best  ov  us  all  here;  he  bested  me  whin  he  vvu3  on  airth,  an'  av 
he  got  in,  he'd  best  me  here  too.  Pack  him  off;  we  don't  want 
him." 

Sj  they  threw  him  out  a  lighted  wisp  of  straw,  an'  from  that 
day  till  this  he  has  been  wanderin'  around  the  world  with  his 
lio^hted  wisp,  trying  to  find  some  place  to  get  rest. 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  WELL.         309 


THE  FLOWER  OF  THE  WELL 


A  STORY  OF   MAY-DAY. 


Amongst  the  many  singular  superstitions  once  so  popular  in 
the  remote  country  districts,  "skimming  the  well,"  on  May 
morning,  was  not  the  least  curious.  With  the  first  light  of  day- 
break a  person  repaired  to  some  famous  spring,  where,  by  taking 
the  "cream"  from  the  surface,  whilst  uttering  a  strictly  con- 
ventional incantation,  it  was  supposed  that  his  or  her  neighbor's 
cows  would  cease  to  yield  butter,  their  falling  off  being  compen- 
sated for  by  the  sudden  increase  in  the  yield  of  their  own.  The 
ceremony  falls  under  the  general  name  of  pishogues,  that  is  to 
say,  charms,  by  which  the  "good  people"  were  propitiated  in 
behalf  of  the  celebrant.  Countless  stories  and  legends  have  this 
odd  custom  for  a  common  basis;  and,  as  in  all  proceedings  where 
the  supernatural  element  is  supposed  to  be  invoked,  fairies  have 
been  described  as  taking  a  share  in  the  process. 

Every  one  in  Drumshawn,  from  Bill  Hagarty,  whose  forge 
stood  at  the  east  of  the  village,  to  Johnny  Walker,  the  "tea- 
man," whose  "general  grocery  and  spirit  establishment  "  was 
situate  at  the  west,  knew  Grace  Lanigan.  She  was  a  little, 
wiry-limbed,  blear-eyed  old  woman,  who  went  about  the  village 
in  a  red  hood  and  a  check  apron,  her  feet  encased  in  a  pair  of 
high-soimding  brogues.  Grace  betrayed  in  her  attire  a  gipsyish 
fondness  for  plaids  and  bright  colored  fabrics,  in  consequence  of 
which  she  was  popularly  known  by  the  nick-name  of  "  the  ould 
dandy."  Amongst  her  other  peculiarities,  she  was  passionately 
addicted  to  the  use  of  a  short,  black  pipe,  which  it  was  believed 


3IO  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

was  scarcely  absent  from  her  mouth  even  when  she  slept.  In  all 
matters  of  witchcraft,  spells  and  charms,  Grace  was  an  able  and 
illustrious  proficient.  She  could  tell  fortunes  by  a  process  which 
these  pages  do  not  afford  room  to  describe;  she  cultivated  the 
house  leek  in  the  thatch  of  her  cottage,  and  had  a  horse-shoe 
nailed  to  the  side-post,  as  a  protection  from  the  imps  and  elves 
that  do  mischief  by  night.  No  season  of  the  year  passed  over 
without  its  sp;cial  superstitious  observance — Shrovetide,  Mid- 
summer, Halloween,  each  had  its  peculiar  rite.  Much  has  been 
written  to  fasten  the  charge  of  gross  impiety  on  educated  persons 
of  tlie  class  to  which  Grace  belonged;  yet  it  is  not  too  much  to 
say  that  learning  and  logic  are  misused  when  thus  applied,  and 
that  the  world  will  persist  in  believing  that  the  evil  of  our  super- 
stitions is  more  than  counterbalanced  by  their  poetry  and  im- 
aginativeness. 

Grace  had  once  been  well-to-do  in  the  world,  but  dark  days 
had  befallen  her.  She  used  to  look  back  with  grief  to  the  day 
when  ten  cows  were  milked,  morning  and  evening,  in  her  bawn, 
and  she  was  mistress  of  a  farm  of  between  forty  and  fifty  acres. 
It  was  not  imprudence  which  had  brought  about  the  change,  but 
the  badness  of  tlie  times  and  harvests.  All  her  spells  could  not 
prevent  her  cattle  dying,  her  com  rotting  before  it  had  ripened. 
Disaster,  as  Mr.  Poe  has  it,  followed  disaster,  until  Grace  was 
left  but  a  patch  of  land  and  a  single  cow.  Those  she  had,  and 
nothing  more. 

We  omitted  from  this  brief  inventory,  Nick  Lanigan,  her  only 
son,  a  youth  of  some  twenty  summers,  who  had  never  done  any 
good;  and  intended,  if  appearances  meant  anything,  to  carry  out 
that  useful  programme  to  the  end  of  his  days.  Nick  stood 
nearly  six  feet  in  his  vamps,  and  was  as  fine  a  specimen  of  the 
rawbone  type  of  manly  beauty  as  could  be  found  in  the  province. 
He  had  a  head  of  reddish  colored  hair,  which  fell  in  two  great 
shocks  over  his  temples,  and  covered  his  scalp  with  a  bluff  crop 
resembling  sunburnt  brushwood.  The  lid  of  his  right  eye  de- 
pended permanently  to  such  an  extent  that  it  almost  covered  the 
orb  below  it,  and  lent  liis  face  a  winking  expression  which,  in 


THE   FLOWER   OF  THE   WELL.  3!  I 

combination  with  the  solemn  grotesqueness  of  his  mouth  and  the 
receding  lines  of  his  chin,  constituted  a  physiognomy  at  once 
ludicrous,  helpless  and  impotent.  Nick  had  the  reputation  of 
being  a  fool,  and  to  some  extent  the  popular  belief  was  counten- 
anced by  his  acts  and  sayings.  It  was  said  that  he  slept  on  the 
floor  in  a  sack,  and  that  no  amount  of  instruction  could  induce 
him  to  remember  the  exact  number  of  pence  in  a  shilling.  He 
went  hatless  and  shoeless  in  all  weathers,  turning  up  the  ends  of 
his  trousers  so  as  to  expose  a  pair  of  lean  calves,  floridly  colored 
by  exposure  to  fire  and  weather.  Yet,  in  the  main,  Nick  was  no 
fool,  and  what  is  better,  no  coward.  He  was  wise  enough  to  re- 
fiise  all  belief  in  his  mother's  spells  and  charms,  and  wicked 
enough  to  provoke  her  by  expelling  her  pishogues.  If  only  re- 
buked for  a  misdemeanor,  he  would  place  his  back  to  the  wall, 
and  laugh  like  a  tickled  griffin  until  the  tears  started  into  his  eyes, 
and  his  sides  ached  from  shaking.  But  whenever  his  mother's 
displeasure  sought  an  outlet  in  blows,  Nick  would  "  make  "  for 
the  door,  and  betake  himself  to  a  neighboring  lime-kiln,  where  he 
lived  on  roasted  potatoes,  often  for  three  consecutive  days,  until 
the  storm  blew  over. 

At  last  he  sinned  grievously  against  the  parental  authority, 
and  was  driven  firom  the  house  with  a  volley  of  injunctions 
"never  to  darken  the  door  after  during  the  rest  of  his  mortal 
life."  The  expulsion  cost  the  hopeless  youth  little  anxiety.  As 
he  said  himself,  "  he  was  used  to  it;  "  and  he  returned  to  his  old 
quarters  with  a  sobriety  of  temper  and  an  alacrity  of  pace  which 
would  have  done  honor  to  a  greater  philosopher.  The  cause  of 
the  fracas  was  this.  One  May-day,  Grace,  who  had  been  mys- 
teriously absent  in  the  morning,  returned  home  about  noon,  drew 
her  creepeen  to  the  fire,  and  having  lighted  her  black  pipe,  took 
a  meditative  smoke  up  the  chimney.  Mother  and  son  were  silent 
for  many  minutes^the  one  enjoying  her  pipe,  the  other  pro- 
foundly engaged  in  the  manufacture  of  bird-lime.  Any  one 
looking  at  the  two  would  have  guessed  that  no  common  anxiety 
lay  at  Grace's  heart — an  anxiety  in  which  Nick  had  more  share 
than  he  wished  should  be  made  public.    Eventually,  Grace  began 


513  THE   ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

to  rock  herself  from  side  to  side,  a  proceeding  which  always  gav« 
Nick  considerable  displeasure,  and  often  forced  him  to  leave  the 
house. 

"  Musha,  mother,"  he  asked,  at  last,  lifting  his  head  from  the 
bird-lime  and  casting  a  malicious  look  at  the  old  woman,  "  isn't 
that  child  asleep  yet  ?  " 

Grace,  who  fully  appreciated  the  force  of  the  joke,  raised 
her  head  for  a  moment,  and  slowly  resumed  her  rocking  move- 
ment. 

"Nick,"  she  said,  after  a  short  pause,  "  you  must  soon  go  out 
and  turn  a  hand  for  yourself.  Things  is  going  to  the  bad — worse 
and  worse — and  if  I  can  make  out  a  bit  an'  sup  for  myself,  it's 
more  than  I'll  be  able  to  do  for  you,  you  idlin'  vagabone." 

"Why,  then,  isn't  your  frinds,  the  good  people,  goin'  to  be- 
fiind  yez  a  bit,  aither,  afther  yer  thrubble  to  plaze  them — eh, 
mother  ?  " 

Grace  took  a  long  whiff  and  knocked  out  the  ashes  of  her  pipe 
on  the  hob.  "  Faix,  avourneen,  I  believe  they're  just  as  hard  up 
as  ourselves,  the  crathurs,  an'  more's  the  pity." 

"  Musha,  don't  be  runnin'  away  wid  yer  seven  senses  entirely, 
mother.  Avcoorse,  *  Ni  ghuil  saoi gam  lockt,  and  that's  nay- 
ther  here  nor  there  wid  people  that  have  oceans  of  goold  and 
silver  to  do  as  they  likes  wid.  I'll  be  bail  now,  an'  the  cow 
ninnin'  as  dhry  as  a  cart  wheel,  yez  didn't  skim  the  well  this 
momin'." 

Grace  groaned  profoimdly  and  crossed  her  arms  on  her  knees. 
"  It's  not  the  first  good  thing  a  fool  said,"  she  answered,  "  and 
I  did  thry  to  skim  the  well  this  morning,  but  I  might  as  well  be 
attemptin'  to  prod  the  blessed  moon  with  a  knittin'-needle." 

"  Is  she  in  her  right  mind  at  all  ?  "  said  Nick,  by  way  of  an 
apostrophe  addressed  to  a  third  party.  "  Horns  and  knittin'- 
necdles,  inagh  !  " 

"  Yerra,  you  omadhaun,  sure  'tis  hard  enough  to  get  any  on  • 
derstandin'  into  that  red  head  iv  yerz,  Afther  all  my  thrubble,  1 
might  as  well  be  pratin'  to  the  griddle,  as  thryin'  to  learn  yez.'" 

*  No  one's  without  a  failing. 


THE   FLOWER  OF  THE   WELL.  Jt^J 

"Ai,  thin,  doesyer  hear  her?  "  continued  Nick,  with  a  most 
unfilial  interraption.  "  Isn't  it  as  aisy  for  you  to  say,  wanst  for 
all  in  all,  av  yez  skimmed  the  well  this  mornin'  ?  Begor,  if  yez 
didn't,  give  the  cow  a  goold  meddle  and  pinsion  her  off  dacenlly, 
this  minute." 

"Haven't  I  towld  yez  I  was  up  and  skimmed  it  airly  enough, 
you  bosthoon?"  shouted  Grace,  whose  temper  was  visibly  de- 
clining in  the  wrong  direction. 

"Now,  that's  a  plain  answer,"  rejoined  Nick,  suppressing  a 
laugh.  "  Av  yez  said  that  at  fust  see  all  the  thrubble  ye'd  spare 
yerself.  Why  thin,  mother,  now  that  yer  comin'  out  raisonable, 
tell  us  all  about  it,  won't  yez  ?  " 

"  Until  yez  bell  it  all  over  the  parish,  I  suppose,"  said  Grace, 
with  a  little  bitterness. 

•'  Is  it  me,  mother !  Dickens  the  word  then  they'll  hear  iv  it 
from  me,  I  be  bail. ' ' 

Grace  having  been  repeatedly  assured  that  Nick  would  preserve 
her  secret  inviolably,  and  impelled  by  the  natural  desire  we  all 
feel  tp  lighten  our  burdens  by  sharing  them  with  others,  took  her 
pipe  fix)m  her  mouth  and  began  as  follows: 

"Yez  see,  Nick,  as  the  ould  cow,  bad  scannin  to  her,  was 
makin'  up  her  mind  to  give  up  milkin'  completely,  I  sez  to  my- 
self that  I'd  see  what  could  be  done  by  setting  a  charm  to  take 
away  Biddy  Grady's  crame  and  butther  and  bring  it  back  to  our- 
selves. May-mornin',  you  know,  great  a  fool  as  you  are,  is  the 
only  time  of  the  year  to  set  the  rale  charm ;  so  I  got  up  before 
the  cock  was  crowin',  and  set  off  to  Tubher-ahina  with  the  new 
skimmer  in  my  pocket.  An'  when  I  got  to  the  brink  iv  the  well, 
lo  and  behold  you  !  what  was  sittin'  there  foreninst  me  on  the  top 
iv  a  bulrush  but  an  ould  crather  about  the  hoith  of  a  piggin  1 
Arrah,  yez  should  see  his  nose !  'twas  as  long  an'  as  sharp  as 
Paddy  Crosby's  shears,  and  on  the  top  iv  his  shoulders  he  had  a 
hump  like  a  sergeant's  knapsack.  There  he  was  sated  as  nat« 
as  tuppence,  and  as  grand  as  a  lord. 

"  *  Mornin,'  ma'am,'  sez  he,  winkin'  at  me  wid  his  two  eyes. 

«•  *Musha,  the  same  to  yerself,'  sez  I,  •  if  there's  no  offince  in 
wishin'  U.' 


314  THE    ZOZIMUS   PAPERS. 

•'  'Troth  an'  there's  not,  ma'am,'  sez  my  ould  laddo.  'Isn't 
it  airly  yer  out  ?  '  sez  he  agin' . 

*«*  Every  one  to  his  taste,'  sez  I,  '  as  the  lady  said  when  she 
kissed  her  cow.' 

"  '  Indeed,'  sez  he,  'indeed  !  Is  it  any  hami  to  ask  when  yer- 
self  kissed  yer  cow  last  ?  ' 

"  '  Oh,  faix,  as  for  that  matther,'  sez  myself,  makin'  answer  to 
him,  '  'tis  as  the  fit  comes  an'  goes.  It  isn't  every  day  a  heifer 
can  dhry  her  mouth,'  sez  I;  '  wid  a  cambric  handkercher. ' 

•"Thrue  for  you,  Mrs.  Lanigan,'  says  he,  giving  a  twist  atop 
iv  the  bulrush.  '  Are  yez  makin'  much  by  your  butther  these 
times?  ' 

'"Asyez  asked  the  kushtion  civil,  agregal,'  sez  I,  'I'd  be 
sorry  to  desave  yez.  Why  thin,  I'm  bate  intirely  this  sayson. 
Yez  might  as  well  be  milkin'  a  milestone  as  to  persuade  the  cow 
to  do  her  duty;  an','  sez  I,  followin'  up  the  discoorse,  '  if  some- 
thin'  don't  turn  up  this  mornin',  I'll  have  to  give  up  house  and 
home,  and  go  weedin',  or  bindin',  or  somethin'  iv  that  sort.' 

"'Skim  away,'  siz  he,  'skim  away,  Mrs.  Lanigan,  and  the 
divil  is  in  it,'  says  he,  scratchin'  his  head,  and  takin'  a  pinch  iv 
snniT,   '  if  yez  don't  do  betther  nor  yer  doin'.' 

"  '  More  power  to  yez,'  sez  I  to  him,  dippin'  the  new  skimmer 
Info  the  well ;  and  faith,  it  was  hardly  wet,  when  I  hears  a  great 
hallooin'  over  head,  and  on  lookin'  up,  does  yez  see,  what  was 
there  above  me,  flyin'  about  in  the  air,  but  two  or  three  foine 
leedies,  galavantin'  wid  aich  other,  and  makin'  the  curiorsest 
noise  I  ever  heerd.  Well,  whilst  they  kept  ginglin'  and  tumin', 
all  iv  a  sudden,  as  Murty  Regan's  mare  broke  her  leg,  they  set 
up  a  cry  of  '  Butther  is  goin',  butther  is  comin';  alew  ! '  I  cocks 
my  eye  at  thim,  and  sees  that,  barrin'  the  quare  way  they  had  of 
flottherin'  up  and  down,  they  were  nate  lookin'  girls,  dressed  in 
poplin  from  top  to  toe,  only  that  it  was  a  bit  thin  and  sliaky  from 
bein'  washed  so  often.  The  ould  gintleman  that  was  fominst  me 
was  gone  asleep  when  I  wanted  to  ask  him  who  they  were,  but 
jest  straight  at  his  back  I  seen  another  couple  iv  boyos  roostin' 
atop  iv  the  sedg^.     One  iv  them  was  smokin'  a  pipe  a  bit  short- 


THE    FLOWER    OF   THE    WELL.  3I5 

er  than  my  own  dudheen,  and  to  see  his  ould  shrivelled-up  face 
workin'  in  and  out  as  he  tuk  his  blast,  would  make  a  milestone 
burst  with  laughter.  But  the  thing  that  was  wid  him  banged 
anTthin'  I  iver  dhremt  iv.  Yerra,  Nick,  he  had  a  head  on  his 
shoulders  for  all  the  world  like  a  carrot,  and  out  iv  it  was  two 
horns,  turned  round  and  round  like  a  cat's  tail  at  the  inds. 

•' *  Takin'  yer  smoke,'  says  myself  to  the  gorsoon  wid  the 
pipe, 

"'Musha,  who  gave  yez  yer  knowledge?'  sez  he,  puttin' 
down  the  ashes  wid  the  butt  of  his  little  finger.  '  Dickens  shoot 
me,  Mike,'  sez  he,  tumin'  to  the  other  gorsoon,  '  but  those  ignor- 
amuses will  bate  us  clane  out  iv  the  country  before  Slirovetide.' 

"  'Sure,  any  one  harkenin'  to  yez  would  think  'twas  the  school- 
masther  was  spakin','  sez  I,  'barrin'  he'd  hang  a  dozen  iv  yer 
seed  and  breed  in  the  ink-bottle  at  his  button-hole. ' 

"  'Didn't  I  tell  yez,  Mike?'  sez  he,  tumin'  round  agin  to  the 
chap  wid  the  horns.  '  We  won't  stand  it  no  longer, '  sez  he,  tak- 
in'  the  pipe  from  his  mouth.  '  And  what  ill  wind  blew  yez  here 
so  airly,  Mrs.  Lanigan?'  sez  he. 

•' '  I'd  be  sorry  to  desave  yez,'  sez  I,  '  though  I  wish  it  was 
some  one  else  put  the  kusthun.  Isn't  it  as  plain  as  the  pipe  in  yer 
ugly  gob  that  'twas  no  good  wind  dhruv  me  where  you  are  ?' 

'"Butther  is  goin',  butther  is  comin','  cried  the  girls  hoigh 
above  us. 

«' '  Does  yez  hear  that,  Mrs.  Lanigan  ?'  sez  my  neighbor — 'are 
yez  listenin'  to  that?'  sez  he,  wid  a  grin  that  went  from  ear  to  ear. 
'  If  yez  hasn't  lost  all  yer  teeth,  skim  the  well,  and  take  to  yer 
shankers,'  sez  he,  '  or  the  devil  resave  the  bit  of  butther  ye'll  see 
whilst  yer  name's  Grace.' 

'* '  'Tisn't  the  first  time  somebody,!  won't  mintion,  gave  a  good 
advice,*  sez  Ij  'and  here's  at  yez  ;'  and  wid  that  I  dipped  the 
skimmer  agin  into  the  well,  but  I  might  as  well  thry  to  lift  the 
wathey  into  a  sieve,  for  it  all  ran  out  through  the  bottom. ' 

"  '  Begor,  yec'done.  for  at  last, '  sez  the  ould  bosthoon,  cacklin' 
to  himself  Mwid  divarshin.  ♦  Thry  it  agin,'  sez  he,  '  there's  many 
a  slip  'twten  the  cup  and  the  lip,  Mrs.  Lanigan,  darlint.' 


3l6  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"  •  What  makes  the  wather  run  through  the  skimmer  ?'  sez  I, 
gettin'  angry. 

"  'Don't  you  see  the  rayson,'  sez  he — '  arrah,  because  it  won't 
stop  in  it,  Mrs.  Lanigan.' 

"  •  Y'ev  been  to  school,  masther,*  sez  I  to  him,  *  and  by  the 
same  token,  yez  always  sat  on  the  windy  side  av  the  hedge,  and 
didn't  hear  much  iv  the  lamin',  ma  bouchal.' 

•'  'Ah,  thin,  Grace,'  sez  he,  lookin'  as  sayrious  as  a  bed-post, 
'there's  a  pair  av  us  there,  ai?'  And  wid  that  the  pair  of  geese 
set  up  a  screech  of  laughin'  that  set  me  dancin'  in  the  tan- 
thrums. 

"  'Butther  is  goin' — butther  is  comin','  sez  the  ladies. 

'"Yez  betther  cut  your  stick,  Grace,'  Sitys  the  ould  fellow, 
*or  skim  the  well  at  wanst.  Take  another  dip,  agragal,  and 
who  knows  the  luck  yez  may  git  ?' 

"  So  I  took  him  at  his  word,  and  put  the  skimmer  down  a 
soccond  time,  but  keepin'  out  the  tide  wid  a  pitchfork  was  divar- 
shin  to  thryin'  to  take  up  the  crame  wid  a  skimmer  that  wouldn't 
hould  chaney. alleys. 

*'  The  boyos  began  laughin',  my  dear,  agin,  and  siz  they, 
'Grace,  did  yez  meet  'eer  a  red-haired  woman  this  momin'  ?' 

"  '  Troth,  no,'  siz  I. 

"  'Did  yez  come  across  'eer  a  magpie?'  siz  they. 

«'  'Troth,  I  didn't,'  sez  I  agin. 

•'  'Maybe  you  overlooked  Nick's  throwin'  an  ould  shoe  afther 
yez,  as  yez  left  the  house,'  says  the  lad  wid  the  horns. 

"  'Begannys,  yer  right,  my  bucko,'  sez  I,  remimberin'  it  all  of 
ahape. 

*♦  •  Then,'  sez  he,  '  yez  might  as  well  be  bailen'  out  the  green 
bay  with  a  bottomless  thimble.  Lave  it  alone,  acushla,  and 
betther  luck  next  time. ' 

"  The  words  was  hardly  out  av  his  mouth  when  I  hears  a  great 
hallooln'  in  the  air^  and  on  lookin'  up,  may  I  never  turn  another 
fod  av  turf  if  the  air  for  a  mile  round  wasn't  thick  wid  fairies, 
flyin'  from  all  quarthers,  wid  keelers  of  milk  fastened  to  their 
backs.    Arrah,  to  see  them  was  a  thrate  worth  walkin'  a  distance 


THE    FLOWER    OF    THE    WELL.  ^IJ 

for.  Some  av  them  had  tails,  and  some  av  them  no  tails  at  all ; 
some  av  them  had  beards  cockin'  stiff  out  av  their  chins,  and 
some  had  no  more  beard  on  thim  than  yersclf,  avic.  You  needn't 
be  scrapin'  yer  chin,  Nick,  'tis  as  bare  as  the  dale  table  there. 
Such  noses  and  faces  I  neve.-  seen  before  ;  and  whilst  they  were 
batin'  about  the  bushes,  the  girls  set  up  the  ould  song  agin, 
'  Butther  is  goin' — butther  is  comin'.'  Immediately  all  the  gor- 
soons  rowled  the  full  of  their  keelers  into  a  big  tub,  and  sez  one, 
*  Let  Grace  Lanigan  look  out  now,'  sez  he,  '  for  if  her  cow  was 
as  ould  as  Methusala,  she'll  milk  as  much  now  as  a  pratystalk.' 
Hearin'  this  discoorse,  I  made  another  dip  iv  the  skimmer,  and 
no  sooner  I  missed  it  agin  than  Larry  Hayes'  cock  (  divil  choke 
him  )  began  crowin',  and  all  the  fairies  vanished  from  my  sight. 
So,  Nick,  darlint,  look  out  for  yerself,  av  yez  have  look  at  your 
side.  I've  towld  yez  all,  lock,  stock  and  bairel.  There'll  be  no 
more  milk,  no  more  nothing  ;   troth,  I  see " 

"Wait  a  bit,  mother,"  exclaimed  Nick,  and  as  he  spoke  he 
took  up  a  position  between  her  and  the  door.  "  Have  yez  the 
skimmer  about  yez  ?  " 

*'  FaLx,  I  have,  safe  and  sound  in  my  pocket,  alanna." 

"And  did  yez  look  at  the  bottom  av  it  when  yer  set  off  to 
skim  the  well  this  morning  ?  " 

'"Deed,  thin,  I  didn't." 

"Well,  thin,  look  at  it  now,  and  ye'll  find  three  round  holes 
burned  wid  a  red  hould-fast  in  the  bottom  av  it." 

Grace  held  the  skimmer  between  her  eyes  and  the  cloudy  light 
that  came  through  the  window.  Abrief  examination  of  the  uten- 
sil verified  Nick's  statement. 

"Ah,  thin,  who  done  this,  alanna?"  she  asked,  "ai,  who 
done  this  ?     Tell  me." 

"Musha,  faith,  mother,  'twas  me,  for  the  fun  av  it,"  replied 
her  hopeful  son. 

Grace  grasped  the  bent  hoop  which  served  for  a  tongs  in  her 
humble  household,  and  rushed  at  her  guilty  offsprmg.  Nick, 
who  evidently  anticipated  such  a  movement,  escaped  from  the 
house  and  stood   "mopping  and  mowing"   before  the  door. 


3l8  THE    ZOZIMUS    PAPERS. 

"  And,  mother,  does  yez  know  why  the  ould  oow's  milk  ran 
short?     Shure  yez  ud  never  guess — faith,  bekase  I  dhrank  it." 

A  suppressed  scream  was  Grace's  only  answer.  "While  there's 
life  in  yer  body,"  she  shouted,  "  shun  this  house,  I  warn  yez, 
mind,  I  warn  yez ; ' '  and  with  these  words  she  closed  the  door, 
and  reseated  herself  on  the  creepeen. 

Nick,  we  are  told,  stayed  away  for  three  weeks,  and  in  his  ab- 
sence, so  considerable  was  the  increase  in  the  yield  of  milk,  that 
Grace  recovered  her  temper,  forgave  her  undutiful  son,  and 
thenceforth  grew  somewhat  credulous  in  the  potency  of  charms, 
though  she  clung  faithfully  to  her  old  belief  in  the  world  of  Fafiry. 


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Shipwreck.    A  Tale  50 

Catholic  Prayer-Books,  3.5c.,  50c.,  up  to  12  OO 

l^g^  Any  of  above  books  sent  free  by  mail  on  receipt 

of    price.     Assents    wanted    everywhere    to  sell   above 

b»oks,  to  whom  liberal  terms  will  be  given.    Address 

P.  M.    KKXEDY,   Excelsior  Catholic   PnblishinR 

House,  S  Barclay  Street,  Netv  Torh. 

7 


/' 


Publications  of  P.  J.  Kenedy,  5  Barclay  St,  N.  Y. 

Savoffe's  Poems $2  OO 

Sybil :  A  Drama.    By  John  Savage 7o 

Tt'eafise  on  Sixteen  ^ainefi    of 

Ireland.      By  Rev.  J.  O'Leary.  D.  D.  50 

Two  Cofffff/es.     Bv  LadvFullerton. .  50 

yy    Thinli  Well  Oit'f. '  Large  type 40 

Th,oritherr If  Abbey.    A  Tale 50 

Tli  ree  Eledn  ors.    A  Tale 75 

Trip  to  France.     Rev.  J.  Donelan..  1  00 

Three  Kings  of  Cologne SO 

Universal  Reader 50 

Vision     of     Old     Andrew     the 

Weaver 50 

Visits  to  the  Blessed  Sacrament.  40 

Willy  Beilly.     Paper  cover 50 

Way  of  the  Cross.     14  Illustrations.        5 
Western  3Iissions  and  3Iission- 

aries 2  00 

Walker's  Dictionary 75 

young  Captives.    A  Tale ,50 

VoutJi's  Director 50 

Young  Crusaders.    A  Tale 50 

Catholic  Proypr-Books,  25c.,  50c.,  up  to  13  00 
^S^~  Any  of  above  books  sent  free  by  mail  on  receipt 
nf  price.  AgentB  wanted  everywhere  to  sell  above 
I'ooKs,  to  vvliom  liberal  terms  will  be  given.  Address 
V.  J.  KKNFDV,  Exrelsior  Catliolit*  ]Pnbli8hin|; 
House,  S  Jiarclay  Street,  yew  I'ork. 

8 


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